#incest stories

It was summer vacation, and my parents loved to show off their money. We did the usual thing, go to an upscale RV park with our big 5th wheel for 3 weeks, and  do nothing but fish, swim, and play board games. This was going to be my last vacation with them so I played the nice teenage son and acted like I was having fun.

Now I should mention the family always took 3 weeks, but my dad could never stay for more than 2 because his job wouldn’t let him if he still wanted Christmas off with the family, so the last week of vacation was my stepmom, my 2 little sisters, and myself. Now many people may be thinking, “a whole week without dad there, must be a lot of sex right there after the sisters go to bed.” Not so. My stepmom was always loyal, or as far as I knew, up until that point.

I should also describe my stepmom. She is an ample woman, has large breasts and when you look at her you don’t think fat, you think plump. Now I will say due to years and years of alcohol and smoking, she isn’t the best looking 50 year old woman, but she wasn’t ugly by far. Light blonde hair, average height, and did I mention she was British?

We had about 3 days left before our vacation was up when it happened. My dad was already back at work, and the rest of us were enjoying a day at the pool. My sisters were playing catch or find the water toy in the shallow end because they couldn’t swim yet, and my stepmom and I were doing laps back and forth across the deep end. I had my goggles on because I don’t like not being able to see underwater, and also I didn’t want t run in to her, me being about 100 lbs heavier. We were going good, at about lap 20, when as we passed each other her hand brushed my leg. I shivered a little and, faltered, so I came up a little later than she did. She smiled at me, and asked if I was having trouble. I could have said yes, this problem in my pants, but I said no. She smiled even bigger and we kept going. 5 or 6 more laps passed and she did it again, this time her hand brushing against my cock, and I realized she may be doing it on purpose. I didn’t say anything again to see what would happen, and sure enough a few more passes and she made sure I felt it. I was rock hard, and ready to go, but she looked like she was having fun. And then something even better happened. As she pushed off the wall, her bathing suit top slipped off. She may have loosened it, or it could have been an act of nature, but I got to see it all. her nipples were erect from the cold water, her areolas tight and puckered, and her breasts so smooth and perfect. If I wasn’t hard before I definitely was now. She stayed underwater and made it to the other side, and I had never left it, so she came up out of the water and I was right there. I looked at her and couldn’t speak, which turned out to be ok because I didn’t need to. She grabbed my hands and placed them on her breasts, and I knew what to do with the at that point. As I was playing and sucking, she reached down and grabbed my cock, jerking me off slowly. My little sisters asked if we were ok because we stopped, and we both managed to say that we were, so they went back to playing. My stepmom leaned in and whispered tat she was going to the bathroom and I should join her, so I definitely did.

I didn’t actually get to have sex with her, but there was a large amount of touching and kissing, and she gave me a blow job. To this day, by far the best blow job I ever had. I am married, and my wife knows nothing about it, and my stepmom has never told anyone. It was a one time thing, and she never acted any different than as if it had never happened, but when alone she would pay a little more attention to when I was talking and seem more interested. I don’t know if she was waiting for me to start something, but nothing else ever happened.

It was definitely a taboo encounter, and I have never shared it with anyone. After finding this page, I began thinking about it more and more, and finally decided to share it. I hope you post it and I hope if you do that readers enjoy. Thank you for the awesome page and I hope things go great for you and your mom.

Welcome to the seventh installment of the Above and Beyond series. If this is your first time seeing one, A&B are a collection of tales involving moms who go, you guessed it, above and beyond the normal duties of a mother.

And given that this blog is about incest, primary between mothers and sons, you can safely assume those extra added “duties” involve aiding their son’s sexual gratification in one fashion or another.

If you’re interested in reading the past editions, please peruse the incest stories tag at your leisure.

This edition goes back to the roots of the Above and Beyond series. The very first tale was from a son who described how his mom, after realizing he was taking her panties and using them as a… masturbatory aid, I guess you’d call it, started providing them herself so he wouldn’t have to sneak in and take them.

This story starts off the same way, though it ends a bit differently. And did I mention that, unlike the first one… this one is told by THE MOM HERSELF?

No? I forgot to mention that? Well, that was dumb of me. I should have mentioned that part right up front.

Anyway, here you go.

Enjoy!

So first of all, my son and I love your posts, both the porn you post and the tale of you and your mom. The fact that my son turned me on to tumblr by sending me links to your blog and a few others telling me to check them out should also let you know that my son and I are more than just mother and son. I’m still actually jealous of you and your mom planning to move and make a life together, but I can talk about that later; I wanted to tell you about my son and I and how I’m a mom who went (and still goes) “above and beyond” to use your terms.

It started when he was younger, when I found several of my panties in his hamper when I was going to do laundry. They were obviously used and very messy and I honestly didn’t know how to react. I thought about talking to my husband about it, but this was also around the time when the minor cracks in our marriage about him wanting to have more children and me not being able to do so were starting to really turn into major fights and I didn’t know if I could talk to him about this.

In the end I did nothing and just hoped that my son wouldn’t do this again, that it was just sort of a one-time thing, something he did out of curiosity and that I wouldn’t need to talk to my husband and get into a possible fight over it.

Unfortunately, that was a foolish hope and of course my panties kept ending up in his hamper, all sticky and wet. The longer I didn’t say anything to him or my husband about it, the harder it was to say anything - if I didn’t say anything the first time, why would I object the third time? Or the fifth? Or the tenth?

But as time passed and I kept quiet, I realized something. I wasn’t bothered or disturbed by it any more. Maybe it helped that I was fighting more and more with his father, but I realized I liked the thought of my son finding me sexy and desirable - because my husband sure as hell wasn’t.

I finally broken down and talked to my son and made a deal with him. I told him he didn’t have to go into my room or through my dirty laundry - mainly because I was worried what would happen if his father caught him. Instead, I’d leave some of my panties in his room for him to enjoy.

So for awhile, instead of throwing my panties in the hamper when I showered in the morning, I’d leave them in his room. I even rationalized it to myself by thinking that this way I didn’t have to buy tissues and he wouldn’t stain any of his clothes. In hindsight, it wasn’t entirely rational, but at the same time, things were getting rather vicious between my husband and I and this was kind of my release, my way of still feeling good about myself and sexy.

Then things finally fell apart between my husband and I and we got divorced. It wasn’t a good divorce: a lot a bitter resentment on both sides came out, we fought constantly, contested every single part of the paperwork, all that horrible stuff. I admit it, I kind of fell apart when it was all over and was kind of a zombie - go to work, come home, zone around the house, go to bed and repeat. My son took care of me and the house during those dark days and he had to really push me to keep it together and, during that time, the whole “leaving panties in his room” thing stopped.

I snapped out of it when I came home from work early one day and caught him and a girl going at it on the couch. She was topless, he had his pants off and I saw a lot of things while they were embarrassed and running around. She basically ran out of the house as fast as she could and he told me later that she was so embarrassed by it all that she broke up with him because she couldn’t deal with the embarrassment (which sounds very overwrought in hindsight, so maybe that’s good that they broke up - she might have been more trouble than he wanted!).

After she was gone and he was more presentable, we talked. Initially about dating and safe sex, but the conversation wandered and at one point he made a comment about her panties and how mine were had been nicer. That got us talking about our old “me leaving panties in his room” routing and he said he missed having that “ritual” to connect us. I confessed to him I missed it as well.

Since I had worn a skirt to work that day, part of me felt like there was no time like the present to start again, so I gave him my panties right there and then. He was shocked some, started to go to his room, but then decided turnabout was fair play and he used them right there and then while I watched.

The next few days were awkward as hell - he’d jerked off in front of me, came in my panties while looking me in the eyes. And sure, I’d encouraged it, but at the same time, this was my son, this was way beyond me leaving my panties in his room. He didn’t quite know how to act around me, I didn’t know how to react around him, but after a week, I couldn’t stop thinking about it and went to his room to give him my panties while he was home and he let me watch him again.

This quickly became the norm for us; I’d come home from work, change, give him my panties and watch him jerking off with them. It turned me on more and more and I started touching myself while I watched, and that quickly turned into me masturbating while he watched. So we’d sit on the couch, masturbate together and talk about how sexy the other was. I was happy but also terrified to do more than watch. Hell, the one time he accidentally came on me, I panicked. It was hot, but it was also more than I was immediately comfortable with.

I still encouraged him to date, to go out with girls; a few times he’d ask for help with them and I spied on him and his girlfriends, see how they enjoyed each other. We’d talk about it while we masturbated together - ways he could make them feel better, tips on going down, things like that. But we stayed on our own sides of the couch and just watched because I was nervous to do more, even as I was telling him how sexy it was to see him having sex.

I did grow more comfortable with the thought of doing more than just watching, but was also scared to do anything. He told me later he was scared as well and was worried about ruining things if he tried to do more. We both knew we had a pretty non-standard relationship, but were also both a little worried about how things might mutate and change if we kept crossing lines.

Then it was his birthday. I decided that as his “real” present from me, I could at least touch him. That would be okay, somehow. My original plan was to jerk him off with my panties, give him a handjob and maybe let him cum on me. That was the plan, but it went right out the window I wrapped my hand around my panties and felt his cock through them.

A handjob quickly turned into a blowjob which quickly turned into me begging him to fuck me and crying and telling him how much I loved him as he came in me. We did both have a few moments of freaking out immediately afterwards about how gone way beyond what I’d been planning, but we also both quickly got over it and we spent his birthday weekend in bed together playing and enjoying each other.

He doesn’t live at home anymore, but when he visits he’s still sleeping in my bed and making me happy. And I’m still encouraging him to date girls and enjoy them, because I know in the long run he and I can’t do what you and your mom are doing. For one thing, I want grandchildren, damn it, and since I’m barren (and mindful of genetics!) there has to be another woman involved.

Sure, in my fantasies, his loving wife will be incredibly understanding and sympathetic to the relationship he and I have had and are having - but I also know that the chances of that happening are slim and none, so I’m happy with what I have for now and am encouraging him to find that right girl.

But still - I do wish sometimes we could just run off and be together like you and your mom…

Submitted to us by “WineMom”. I only mention that because she references the name in the story.

I don’t really know where to start (and I can’t believe I’m writing this) so I’ll begin talking about me. I’m a mother, I’m 37 years old, my son is 18 (in his first year of university) and my husband is 41.

Long story short things haven’t been going well with my husband. Over the years he slowly became more career driven and we saw him less and less at home. He often came back home late and was either tired or in a bad mood.

Sex slowed down progressively, we barely do it anymore. Like I said he’s often tired and/or starts arguing/screaming over little things. Sometimes he’s borderline abusive. Because of this he and my son are often arguing (he slowly started to talk back to him when he was becoming a teenager). Additionally my husband’s been facing some erection problems, it takes him time to be ready down there if he doesn’t take some pills. I don’t really mind, I’ve been doing my best to make it work and I’ve never made fun of him but I think it really must be hurting his ego.

Last year I found out he’s been cheating on me with his secretary for years. Yeah I know, it’s so cliché. He completely broke my heart. I didn’t confront him, nor did I tell anyone. I didn’t have strength to and I’ve been trying to find what I did wrong. My son did notice that something was up but I said everything was fine. What kills me is that my husband doesn’t seem to have noticed anything.

I’ve been thinking of divorcing him. Our current apartment is in my name and I have a part time job that can easily become a full time one so I should be fine. Besides I’m sure my son will help me out at home even more than he already does :)

Anyway, I’m sorry I’ve typed all of this out but I felt like I needed to talk. And don’t worry, I’m submitting this because something weird and awkward happened recently between me and my son.

Like I said, my husband and my son often scream at each other. Fortunately his dad bought another apartment, much closer to his work, and lives there during the week for the most part (still comes home sometimes and texts me telling me to make dinner). I can’t help but feel that he just wanted to be away from us and hell … maybe even bring his bitch there.

During the week ends he still comes here but mainly watches tv, goes out to the pub and complains. It’s good that he’s not often at home because that means less arguing. It has made my son and I closer in a way I think.

My son was always very short when he was a kid. He was really insecure because kids and even girls made fun of him. Because of this I think he felt the need to compensate by being really fit. Fortunately he was just a late bloomer and he isn’t short now (he’s 1m75 or around 5'9" if you’re american) but thanks to all those years of doing sports, jogging and going to the gym he’s fairly fit. He kind of has the same body as Brad Pitt in the movie Fight Club. He’s not huge but lean and you can see his muscles. He has a bathroom in his room upstairs with a shower. After training he likes to take a bath downstairs in the other bathroom. Because of this I sometimes get see him with just a towel around his waist. I often acknowledge his muscles and abs, hoping i’ll make him feel more attractive. It often makes him blush and go “mooooom!”. I even pinch him to show how lean he is or touch his arms jokingly.

By the way, he’s my son so I’ve always found him beautiful like I think every mother does. But now I think I can objectively say he’s pretty attractive. He’s not tall (or short) but I think he really makes up for it. Up until very recently I can say fore sure I’ve never been sexually attracted to him even though I could see he had a nice body.

Recently he was going out with a girl for some weeks, a little asian girl. I’ve seen her once, she’s skinny, about a head shorter than me (I’m 1m70 (or 5'7" according to google)) and pretty cute I have to say. I was really happy for him because that was his first gf and he seemed really happy.

However, last week, he came back (it was Saturday night) and looked terribly sad. Questioning him only made him angry. His father didn’t seem to notice/care.

As you can see with my name I love wine, I usually drink one glass a day, sometimes more on the week-end. When my son turned 16 I started drinking wine with him from time to time (we never got completely drunk, don’t worry, I’m responsible). We would talk about stuff and enjoy ourselves. It really made us closer. I think that his dad being an asshole has also made us closer in a way.
Anyway I proposed him to spend an evening drinking wine (secretly hoping it would relax him and make him talk). He accepted and seemed a bit better already.

So that’s what we did this Monday. We got a bottle of red wine, two glasses, sat on the sofa in front of the living table and enjoyed ourselves. We talked, laughed. All was good but after most of the wine was gone I felt like alcohol would make talk a bit about his problem.

I asked him if something happened between him and his gf. After some hesitations he said yes … paused and added “we tried to do it”. I went “oh” and then followed with “tried … ?”. He went somewhat angrily “we couldn’t really do it and she even didn’t want to do oral with me”. He continued saying she gave him a handjob, they dressed back up and she broke up with him.
Now what would you think at his point? Questions were flowing in my head … what kind of problems did he have down there? I know he masturbates regularly because of the tissues in the little bin in his room and he’s young so I doubted he had the same problems as his father. I told him he could tell me everything, calling him honey or sweetheart like I often do when needed.
And then he just said suddenly “I’m too big for her”.

I really didn’t expect this so I couldn’t help but shockingly go “what??”. So here’s the thing … he explained that when he showed it to her she didn’t want to do it because she saw this relationship as a way to just fool around and have fun. She said that she plans to marry later in her life and he’ll make her too loose. And so she told him it was over. She also tried to reassure him by telling him “oh you’ll find plenty of girls who’ll love your dick”.

I must have really looked shocked when he told me that because even when typing this is feels weird. I tried to cheer him up saying that he’ll just find another girl, he’s very attractive and all that. I really didn’t know how to comment on what he told about his penis.

I think he really had a thing for this girl. After this awkward conversation we decided to go to sleep. We still haven’t brought THAT subject up yet. I regret not having asked more questions that evening.

Ever since I’ve been curious about his penis. I wonder how big it is, what it looks like … is it really freak huge to the point where it’s impractical or was it just too big for his tiny (ex)girlfriend. In retrospect I even find his body more attractive. I’m really confused. Am I attracted to him or is it just because I haven’t had much sex this entire year? Is this just a phase? Is it just because I’ve heard he’s endowed?

I’ve been looking up studies on incest at first and then incest stories. And that’s how I found your tumblr. I’m a bit ashamed but I’ve spent this entire week checking the stories you’ve posted and I find them very arousing. I’ve been masturbating a lot more than usual this week as well.

I’m sorry I wrote so much stuff, I didn’t even intend to in the first place. It may not be worth posting for now. I’m going to try to get more intimate with my son. I really need to cheer him up, he has winter exams coming up in January. If something happens I’ll send you an update. Thank you for reading this, I felt like I had to share this.

This post is a collection of short stories/letters that girls have sent in about themselves and their dads. I feel like I should say more, but I think that first sentence summed it up pretty well, really.

Enjoy!

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Hi, this is just a funny story about me and my dad. It’s not incest but it’s about the closest I’ll ever come to it. I thought it might interest you. If you post it, please don’t use my name. Thanks! :)

A few years ago I came home from college on spring break. My mom picked me up at the airport and she was supposed to take the afternoon off. But there was like an emergency at work and she had to go back. I drove her back to work and then drove her car home. Once I got home I took a shower and I used my parents’ shower because they have a fancy bathroom. The shower is all glass. It’s nice and roomy.

While I was in the shower my dad came home. He saw my mom’s car outside so he thought we must be home. But he went inside and nobody was there. He came upstairs and heard the shower and then he thought my flight must not have come yet, and my mom must have come home from work and was taking a shower before she went to pick me up.

He came into the bathroom. I had my back to the door so I didn’t see him. He was assuming it was Mom in the shower so I don’t think he was really paying attention. He went “Hey, I’m home!” and it startled me. I turned around and at the same time he was walking up to the shower. I think he was going to pop his head in the door so he could talk to my mom, or so he thought. But at the last second he saw it was me.

My dad and I are super close. I went from being startled to freaking out like “OMG, Daddy!” We hadn’t seen each other for months so I jumped out of the shower and started hugging him. I was naked but I didn’t care, he’s my dad.

But he didn’t seem as excited to see me as I was to see him. Then I noticed he wasn’t looking at me. So I was like OK, sorry, this was awkward. LOL. He said he’d meet me downstairs and I got back in and finished my shower.

Once I got dressed I went down and he gave me a big hug and kiss. I apologized again for my naked ninja attack and he said it was fine. He was just caught off guard because he thought it was Mom in the shower, and then within a few seconds he realized it was me and then I was jumping on him naked.

So it was all good. But I remember him saying something about how when he was walking up to the shower and thinking it was my mom, he thought “Wow, she’s really been working out”. But it was really me in there.

I think he was saying I had a hotter body than Mom. I should have followed up on it to see where it took us, but I didn’t. In the moment we just laughed. It wasn’t even until later when I was in bed that I thought of the implication of it, that he was kinda calling me hot.

Oh well, missed my chance. LOL. I just thought I’d tell you my dumb story. I love your blog!

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Hey there. I found your blog a few days ago. I binged on it from the first page on. I love everything about it. You put a normal well-spoken face to this and I think that’s so awesome. People shouldn’t have to feel guilty because they have feelings for a parent. Some people are just fucking incredible and attract others to them. It’s not our fault if we end up with one of those people as our mom or dad.

That’s how my dad is. We’ve had a thing going since last year. I suck him off all the time. I’m not in love with him the way you are with your mom. I just love to make him cum. He’s such an amazing person. I think he deserves to have his balls emptied as much as possible and I wanted to be the one doing it for him. Plus it’s so fucking hot. Sneaking around. Knowing it’s so wrong because I’m his daughter. Sometimes when he’s talking to my mom, I’ll come up behind her where she can’t see me and make blowjob motions at him. It’s so much fun.

I just want to thank you for having your blog. There are lots of people with feelings like yours or mine who are conflicted about it. I’m sure your writing helps make them more comfortable with their feelings, and that’s a great thing. And I wish you all the best with your mom! She sounds like one seriously awesome chick.

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the post about the jeans with the girl’s dad fucking her doggy in her jeans is so hot. when i lived at home my dad and i used to fuck. it wasn’t that i liked him like that but i was horny and my mom worked cray hours so we were alone a lot. and i do love him obvs. i had to convince him a little but it wasn’t too hard lol. but anyways most times we didn’t get full out naked in case she came home so there were prob lot of times i got fucked doggy with my pants below my ass like that. but i never saw it from that angle before. it’s way fucking hot. makes me wish i lived closer to him lol.

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OK so my dad’s birthday was last month. I remembered it that morning while I was taking a shower. As soon as I got out I texted him to say happy b-day and I love you. Then I dried off and was walking into my room to get dressed when he texted me back to say thanks. Then he said “no presents?” with a frown. Just goofing, you know.

I was in front of my mirror naked when I got his text. I don’t know wtf came over me but I took a pic of myself in the mirror and sent it to him. I said here’s your present! Its a full length mirror so he could see everything. He was pretty surprised. Understatement, lol.

I asked if he liked it and he said yes but it wasn’t very appropriate. I said that’s what made it so special. He said well that’s true. I wasn’t sure if he was weirded out or not so in a jokey way I said dads aren’t supposed to see their girls like this so he better be honored. He said he was. I said OK then, just don’t tell mom and he lol’d and said he wouldn’t.

The whole day I was like omg I can’t believe I texted a pic like that to MY DAD. But it was exciting. It made me feel all naughty, lol. I got mad at myself because when he said he liked it I should have offered to send him more to see what he would say.

We texted again that night. I said I hoped he had a good birthday. He said he did. I asked if he got any presents as good as mine. He said no. Then he said not even close. That seemed like a good sign. So I said if you want there’s lots more where that came from. I didn’t want to risk that he’d say no so without waiting for his answer I pulled up my shirt (no bra) took a pic in the mirror and sent it to him. I asked what he thought and he said I was gorgeous. So I started taking off clothes and taking more pics for him. I must have sent him 20 that night.

This has been going on now every day since his birthday. I send him naked pics all the time. Even real naughty ones like me fingering myself. I get so turned on taking them for him and he says he loves seeing them. I’m hoping something will happen next time we see each other but I don’t know what he thinks. I want to bring it up but I’m too nervous to say anything.

I got that last story in mid-December, so back before Christmas. I have no clue if they saw each other over the holidays, but if so hopefully she’ll let us know if anything happened.

THE END

I was home for summer break after my sophomore year of college. My mom had her bathroom remodled that spring and had a cool new shower. All glass and all. As soon as I got home I asked if I could use it. She made a face like she didn’t want me to. She said I could though. But then she went “Just don’t do anything………WEIRD in there”. I went “like what???”. Like WTF did she think I would do? She said “I don’t know. Don’t……..MASTURBATE or anything”. I was like for fuck’s sake, Mom.

So I got in the shower. It was much nicer than the showers in the dorms I was used to so I was enjoying myself. I guess I was in there too long because all of a sudden Mom comes in the bathroom. The shower is glass so she can see me in there. I’m all “MOM!!!!” and she starts saying she’s going somewhere later and she has to start getting ready and I’m taking too long. I pointed out how I wasn’t covered up and she laughed at me. Cause she was my mother and had seen me naked a million times, you know. Like I had no reason to expect privacy even as an adult.

I told her to leave. She said no and started getting ready to put on make up and all that. Now I was getting pissed. Then I remembered what she had said before I got in. I wanted to piss her off back so I grabbed my dick and started going to town. I had my back to her but I figured she would be able to tell by my arm moving what I was doing. After a couple minutes I heard “WHAT ARE YOU DOING????”

I said “Nothing” and kept going. She yelled at me to turn around. I kept telling her no and kept stroking. But after about the third time she said to turn around, I did. I had a huge hardon and I kept on beating it. She went “OH MY GOD” and was yelling at me to stop.

I figured seeing me jerking it would get her to leave. That was why I did it because I wanted her out of there. But she didn’t go. She stood there yelling at me. I had been jerking off for a few minutes and I was probably getting close to cumming anyway. But there was something hot about jerking it while she was yelling at me. And I was looking at her through the glass and could see how mad she was which was hot too.

I said I couldn’t stop now and kept on jerking. I told her I was almost done. She went “DON’T YOU DARE CUM IN MY SHOWER!” and that set me off. I never thought I would hear my mom say “cum”. I said “Watch this!” and started blasting cumshots onto the glass. I was facing her so my dick was pointed at her. I was blasting cum in her direction.

She started yelling. I don’t think it was words only angry sounds. She stormed out of the bathroom. Well shit, by then I didn’t want her to leave! LOL. I couldn’t hear after she left but I bet she was still yelling.

I got out of the shower and a minute later she came back in and started throwing things at me. Paper towels, glass cleaner, shower cleaner. She was saying what a disgusting brat I was and demanded I clean her shower. I said OK, fine. But she wouldn’t even go in the bathroom until it was clean. So I cleaned it up and she got a late start doing her makeup and all, which also made her mad.

She was mad at me for the rest of the day and she was still icy the next morning. By the end of the next day she was mostly over it. But here is the crazy part. The only thing she ever complained about or has ever mentioned about it since was how I grossed up her new shower.

She never said a word about me beating off in front of her, even though in her shoes I would think it was disrespectful. She’s never said anything about me looking right at her and shooting cum in her direction. It’s like none of that bothered her. Just that I got her shower dirty while I was doing it.

We’re finishing up the story posts with a collection of mom letters. That is to say, a few short little correspondences sent in by moms. What could be better?

Enjoy!

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Back when my son lived at home I used to catch him eyeing my chest now and then. I may have been having a mid-life crisis, who knows, but I enjoyed it. You know, I was north of 40. Not feeling very sexy. I liked the attention. Something about it being my son made it even better. He wasn’t supposed to look at me that way, right? But he was anyway, which made me feel even sexier.

I never even let on that I knew. But I did start wearing low cut tops more often. I wanted him to have a good view so I could see him looking.

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In 2011 I approached my son (I was 50, he 26) about having an affair. It was not something I did lightly. I thought about it for over a year before I finally asked him. Because of multiple issues, mainly health, my husband and I weren’t having sex anymore. I needed something beyond my vibrator. I wanted a warm body against mine, eyes to look into, a soul to connect with. Those aspects of sex have always been more important to me than just the “getting off”.

So it wasn’t that I needed to get laid. I needed a physical connection with someone I deeply cared for. I couldn’t get that picking up a guy in a bar. It had to be someone I was close to.

After much consideration I felt my son was the best choice. When I finally got up the courage to address it with him, I began by explaining the situation. How his father and I hadn’t been able to do it for some time and that sex was something I needed. Before I could ask him if he would be interested, he actually offered. He told me he’d always dreamt of something like that happening between us.

I started to cry. Mostly out of relief. I had spent more than a year worrying that approaching my son with this could hurt our relationship with each other. I was greatly relieved that wasn’t the case. But they were also tears of happiness.

We made love that day and have continued to do so ever since. Becoming one with my son is the most passionate, emotional, intense, wonderful experience. There is nothing else on this earth that compares to it.

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My son likes me to watch him cum. I finally agreed to watch about six months ago, just this once. Then once became twice. Then three times. Now it’s a regular part of our day.

I found your blog while searching for whatever I could find about this. I was hoping for things like articles, discussions, to learn if him asking me to watch was normal. If my agreeing to do it was normal. Instead I mostly found porn (LOL).

But things like your blog helped me understand this does happen. It may not be normal but he’s not the only son who’s asked and I’m not the only mother who’s watched. Knowing that is good enough.

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Lately when I masturbate my favorite fantasy is my son coming to me and demanding a blowjob. I’m not saying I would ever do it in real life. But the scenario turns me so much. He’s very good looking and I don’t say that just as his mother. He is. And 99% of the time he’s the sweetest person you could ever meet. But he can have moments where he acts entitled. That’s how I imagine him in my fantasy. He demands I blow him like it’s my job to do things like that for him. I yell at him for asking me such a thing, but then I give in and do it. I come so hard thinking about it. I’m afraid to even know what this says about me.

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Ever since my son was in high school we’ve been playing something together we call “the counting game”. Here’s how it works. We go into the bathroom together. He jerks his cock off, usually into the shower or sink. And while he orgasms I count every cum shot out loud. “One! Two! Three!”, like that.

He cums more than I’ve ever seen. Big white ropes of spunk coming out over and over again. The first time I saw it happen, I told him he came so much I ‘lost count’. It was a figure of speech - I didn’t mean I was literally counting the cum shots as they left him. But he said “You counted??”, real excitedly. I told him I hadn’t but I could tell he liked that idea. I think he enjoys knowing his mom’s watching so closely, that my eyes are trained right on his cock while his cum shoots from it. Counting lets him know I’m paying real close attention.

The next time I watched him jerk off, I asked if he wanted me to count this time. He did and we’ve been playing the counting game ever since. He’s married now so it doesn’t happen nearly as much as it used to. But we still find time to play. =)

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THE END

The stories continue with another collection of tales sent in by lady readers about their dads. Thanks, of course, to all of them who sent their stories.

Enjoy!

Say, you might remember the post A Daughter’s Fantasy from a few months back. The author wrote us again and it seemed she was thinking of turning her fantasy into reality.

I didn’t get any follow-ups about what happened, so maybe nothing did. But if she sends anything else the next couple weeks, I’ll post it.

You might remember me from a story a while ago about my horny, high fantasy involving me, my step mother and my father. Well, once again I’m high, and once again I come bearing what is, hoepfully, a sexy story for us all.

My dad and step mom live a very open life. Currently, they have this third woman, and my dad spoils both of them to lots of shopping and vacations. My dad is not the richest man on earth, but he is pretty established on his career, so he can afford to spoil two girls on his life, as long as they satisfy him in other fronts, specially sexually. However, this is making my step mom very jealous, since the girl is younger and prettier.

I remember reading more than once in this site that, for a man, one of the highest achivements wold be to fuck their mother/daughter. I wonder it that’s true? If my dad would think like that about me too? Because you see, my dad is very sexually active, and women are his trophies. He loves to show off. If most people think like that, than fucking me would be the highest sexual achivment he could ever have. I really hope that’s be true. Cause today I caught myself thinking, if I could hook up with my dad and my step mom for real, he wouldn’t need another girl in his life, and my step mom wouldn’t be jealous of me. I know she wouldn’t. And I wonder, if my dad ever would accept that… cause if he would, I’d make the move.

Today I kinda did. I wanted to get all dressed up and go to a fancy restaurant, so I asked my dad out to dinner with that scenario in mind - of us fucking, and he spoiling me to my every wish. The ultimate sugar baby/daddy’s girl experience, which is my biggest fantasy. He, unfortunately, said he couldn’t make it today, but tomorrow we will go out to dinner. I’m excited and very horny at the thought… but I don’t think I ever could make the move. I wonder, what do the guys reading this, specially older ones who have daughters, what would you do in my dad’s position? Would you like your young, virgin daughter, to make a move on you in turn for you to spoil her? I’m curious. And I’ll follow up with whatever happens tomorrow. xx

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my dad and I started doin’ it (lol) over the summer. i know its really naughty that we fuck but it’s not about that. when he’s inside me it makes my soul happy.

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I read where someone asked about your friends hitting on your mom and you said they didn’t. Well fuck, my friends constantly hit on my dad. That’s when I realized how I felt about him because sometimes he would flirt back and it made me so jealous. This one bitch in particular I wanted to claw her eyes out the way she acted around him.

One day my ‘friends’ were over acting like sluts around him and I knew he liked it. When they left I was so pissed I literally had him backing up from me in fear. First I was yelling how fucked up it was he was into girls his daughter’s age. But then I started yelling that if he was into girls my age, like hello, I’m right here. I said I’M your girl, ME, not them, so how do you think it makes me feel when you’re flirting with them and not me? He was so shocked. It was weird at the time but it makes me laugh now.

Things were weird for a while after that but eventually we talked it out. He admitted he did think about me that way sometimes but it was wrong and nothing like that could happen. I said I didn’t care it was wrong, but no matter how much I tried I could never get him to do anything with me. But he also never flirted with my friends again so at least I got that much out of it.

We have a great relationship today. It’s probably for the best nothing ever happened because it probably would have ended up bad. Like with every other guy I’ve fucked, LOL. But I’d totally still fuck him though.

–

A couple months ago I got brave enough to tell my dad how I feel about him. He was flattered. I even made him blush. He said he loved me and all but he didn’t think we should be doing anything physical together. He thinks my feelings for him are like a phase I’m going through. I told him they’re not and after a few weeks I got him to agree that if I still want to have sex with him when I’m 25 then we will. i said 21, he said 30, and we settled at 25.

I’m only 19 so there’s a long ways to go, but I’m hoping I can make it happen sooner. But even if not, I can wait.

Telling him didn’t hurt our relationship at all. If anything I think we’re even closer now. I’m so glad I did it!!!

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Hi! I want to say first I love your blog and I think your totes amazeballs :) lol. I’m not sure why I’m sending this because there isn’t even an ending. But I need to get it out and tell someone and I knew you would understand.

I started camming last summer. When I went home for thanksgiving I told my dad about it. I told him because we’re really close and in case he found out somehow I wanted him to hear it from me. He wasn’t happy about it, i mean no dad dreams of his little girl growing up and being naked on the internet lol. But he said as long as I was happy with it that’s all that mattered to him. I was like aww!

I made him promise not to tell my mom because she would totally lose her shit if she knew. I would never hear the end of it and she has a big mouth so I know other people in our family would hear. He promised he wouldn’t tell anyone. When I went home for Xmas I knew he kept his promise because mom acted normal around me. No way she would be normal if she knew.

I thanked him for not saying anything and that led us into talking more about it. We had a few talks when I was last home. He vaguely knew what camming was when I told him, but he’d come up with some questions. He didn’t come out and say so but I think he thought I might be having sex on cam. I reassured him it was only me. Strictly solo performances lol.

The day before I went home we went for a walk together and it came up while we talked. He asked some questions about how it all worked, the technical parts. We talked about that. We were talking about the chat part of it and how I can interact with people watching me. I said how sometimes there are trolls but I can kick them out. He wanted to know what kind of things they said and I said the usual, your ugly and you smell bad.

He didn’t like that and in his Dad voice he said “Well, what’s the name of this site?” cuz he was gonna go in and set those assholes straight for messing with me. I told him what the site was but one million percent kidding I said are you suuuuuure that’s why you want to know? Cuz I think you just want to get on there and see me nekkid!

He got soooooo embarrassed. His cheeks got red and he started stammering saying no, that wasn’t why. It was really cute, lol. But it gave me this rush because to me my dad is big and tough and invincible. And little ol’ me actually made him uncomfortable. Me and all my womanly womanness lol. I liked how it felt.

We continued on our walk and then he said something incredible to me. He was saying how even though this wasn’t his ideal choice for me, it did make him happy that I was confident enough in myself to do it. It’s a long story but when I was younger I had body issues and an eating disorder that got bad enough I had to be put in the hospital. I give all the credit for my recovery to my dad because my turning point came when he almost cried and told me he wished I could see myself through his eyes, because to him I was the most beautiful girl in the whole world. i hung onto that and i’m doing good now.

Anyways, he said he was glad I had the confidence to do it and it made him happy that I knew how beautiful I was. This hit me like a hammer upside the head because honestly I never thought of it like that. How the 13 year old who thought she was too fat was now an adult confident enough in herself to get paid to be naked. Even though we were in public on our walk I started bawling like a basket case.

If I was with someone who started freaking out like I did, I would step back like uhhh I don’t even know this person. But not my dad. He wrapped me in a big hug and kept telling me it was ok. I don’t know what he thought I was crying about, but I was overwhelmed by what he said. Not only the words but like I said before I give him all the credit for getting past my issues when I was younger. Now there he was hugging me to make it all better. I kept crying and started telling him over and over how much I love him. God, he must have thought I was insane lol. I finally got control of myself and then we walked home.

I laid in bed that night thinking about how amazing my dad is and how lucky I am to have him. I also thought about when I joked about him wanting to see me naked and how embarrassed he got and how fun it was having the power to make him uncomfortable like that. But then I got to thinking he got really embarrassed, like surprisingly so. How come? Why would he have such a strong reaction? I started to wonder what if he got so embarrassed because I was right and I kinda busted him on it, even though I didn’t mean to.

I love my dad more than anything. I would do anything for him. So if he wanted to watch me cam it didn’t bother me at all. If he wanted to watch me then I wanted him to see me. When I joked that he wanted to get on the site to see me, if he would have told me I was right I would have told him he didn’t even need to watch me on cam. And when we got home I would have taken him to my room and got out my vibrator and fucked myself on my bed with him sitting right there.

I figured if there was even a chance he got so embarrassed because I was right and he did want to get on the site to watch me, I wanted him to be able to get on and do it. So the next morning I wrote down all the info he would need. Like the site and the name I use. Then I wrote down some codes so he could get me private without having to buy minutes. We can get codes we can give out for free minutes. I mostly give them to my regulars so they know I appreciate them, but i do post them some places with a pic to drum up business. I wrote down four codes so he would have plenty of time.

Before I left I slipped him the note when we were alone. I told him what it was and said if you ever want to have a look at your little girl, I don’t mind.

He said my name in a surprised way. He started to stutter like he didn’t know what to say. I put the paper in his hand and closed his hand around it. I said you kept my secret. If you ever want to watch then I can keep a secret too. Then I kissed him on the cheek and walked out of the room. I went back up to my room and almost passed out. My heart was beating so hard!

I left a little while later and started camming again the next day. The way the codes work is when I’m camming I know if someone used a code to go private with me, but I don’t know what code they used. I can check to see if a certain code has been used. We’re supposed to keep track of codes we give so like if we post codes on a site somewhere we know what places are good for repeat business. I usually don’t keep track.

A couple days after I got home, someone used a code with me and it wasn’t a regular. When I finished camming that night I checked to see if my dad’s codes were used, but they weren’t.

This has been going on ever since. Every night someone uses a code I check to see if his were used, but so far it hasn’t been him. I’m not like offended he hasn’t come to have a look. But then again I kinda am lol. I mean I told him how to find me on there, so he could come look and see me naked without using a code. But I told him private was the good show so I’m hoping that’s what he would do.

Anyways like I said before this doesn’t have an ending. I don’t know if he’ll ever look. Maybe he already has without using a code. If he does ever go private with me, I don’t know what that will mean between us going forward. Should I even tell him that I know? I don’t know but it’s exciting to think about. I kinda hope he does.

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THE END

This took place back in 1978. Tail end of the summer. My cousin was driving cross country on his way back to college. My parents and I lived near the halfway point of his trip. Our house was on a large property outside of town, no neighbors for miles, real peaceful. My cousin said a few days at our place would be a great way to relax.

He came and stayed with us for two days, give or take. Arrived late afternoon Friday. Stayed Saturday. Got back on the road after lunch on Sunday.

My cousin was a few years older than I was. He was everything I wanted to be: popular, athletic, good looking, confident. Too confident, though. Arrogant. He could be a real asshole. I admired and disliked him in equal amounts.

The first night he was there, he asked about pussy. Specifically, where to find it. Where did the girls hang out? Which ones put out? Which ones were best at it? I was shy and quiet for a teenager. A virgin, in other words. I had to bluff my way through the conversation. Acted above the fray, as though I was bored by what the locals had to offer. I remember him chuckling, like he wasn’t buying my act. But he didn’t call me on it.

Dad played in a softball league that was wrapping up its season. Saturday afternoon was their final game. My mother always went to watch him play. I only went half the time. Anything was more fun than watching middle aged men trying to relive their youth. But she liked me to go with her and I couldn’t always find an excuse not to.

I expected Mom and Dad would go to the game and my cousin and I would find something else to do. I couldn’t see him being interested, big shot that he was. Imagine my surprise when he told my mother he’d love to go with her to watch the game.

Dad left early for warmups. My cousin insisted on taking Mom and I in the big orange van he’d been driving across the country. He drove. Mom rode shotgun. That left me in the back. There was a curtain behind the two front seats that kept the back of the van private. The way I was quickly forgotten and ignored, I may as well have been in another vehicle.

The three of us sat up in the stands to watch the game. I was bored out of my skull. About the fourth inning, I got up to walk around a while. When I went back to my seat, I saw my mother and cousin both holding beers in clear plastic cups. My cousin’s was half empty. Mom’s looked like it had barely been touched.

From their body language it looked like he was encouraging her to drink it. She took a sip and he tilted the bottom of the cup up, so she would have to drink more of it. Mom swallowed it down and coughed, but was laughing. She seemed to be having a good time.

I was very surprised. I had never seen my mother so much as touch a beer before. Or any other alcohol for that matter. As far as I was concerned, she was a saint. An angel sent to Earth. Not only because of her gentle kindness and warmth, but also her beauty. She had the face of an angel. Blonde hair as golden as the sun. I loved my mother dearly. Adored her, really. Seeing her drinking and laughing with my asshole cousin made me uncomfortable. She was a flower and he was a weed.

I went back up and sat down beside her, thinking my presence would get things back to normal. But she actually finished her beer. Then my cousin got two more and she drank most of that too. They spent the rest of the game laughing together. I heard her say that coming to the games was always so boring. Since I was sitting with her half the time, that stung more than a little. Apparently it was only my cousin, not me, who could relieve the boredom she felt.

I’m sure I was being overly sensitive. But the more they laughed and carried on together, the more I felt ignored. Not being old enough to drink yet, I couldn’t have a beer of my own. I was sitting right there but it felt like they were part of a secret club and I was on the outside looking in.

Dad’s team won the game and one of the guys on the team always hosted a BBQ afterward. Dad always went. Mom and I rarely did and that day was no exception. After saying bye to Dad, Mom, my cousin and I went back to his van. I could tell by the way she was acting that my mother was a little tipsy from the beer. She only had two that I remember, but when you never drink I guess it doesn’t take much.

When we got to the van my cousin tossed me his keys and told me to drive us home. I didn’t think anything of it. I assumed he didn’t want to drive because he’d been drinking. I was almost impressed by the unexpected display of responsibility.

I got behind the wheel and he helped Mom into the back of the van. Instead of one of them sitting up front with me, they both stayed in the back. I still didn’t think anything of it. I’d spent the whole afternoon being ignored. I guess I’d gotten used to it.

Only a minute or two into the drive, my cousin told me to turn on the radio. I did. I drove along, listening to the tunes. About ten minutes later I got to an intersection in the middle of nowhere, a few miles from our house. There wasn’t another soul in sight.

I was about to go through the intersection when I heard a strange sound. The radio had gotten quiet, like someone forgot to have the next song ready to play. There were about five seconds of silence. It was only because of that silence that I heard what I did. Funny to think that one forgetful disc jockey might have forever changed my life.

The sound I heard was moaning, there wasn’t any question of that. And as my brain analyzed what I was hearing, I realized it sounded an awful lot like my mother. I immediately turned to look into the back of the van. I had to open the curtain, which I did slowly and only enough to peek in. I saw my mother sitting there. Her head was tilted back, eyes closed, while my cousin sucked on her neck like a vampire.

I barely had time to process what I was seeing when I noticed it. The thing that really made my eyes bulge out. It was my cousin’s hand firmly attached to one of my mother’s large breasts. But he didn’t merely have his hand on it. He was actively fondling it. Pawing her. Groping her over her shirt with big greedy squeezes.

I let go of the curtain before they saw me. Had anyone seen me at that moment, I imagine I’d have been white as a ghost. My first thought was that my cousin was forcing himself on her. Mom was tipsy from the beer and he was taking advantage of her condition. I thought about what to do. Should I get out, drag him out of the back of the van, and kick the shit out of him? I would have loved to, but it would have been easier said than done.

Then I started to realize the uncomfortable truth. The noises I heard were noises of enjoyment. And my mother was making no effort to stop him. No verbal protests. No pushing his hand away. No nothing. To the contrary, she was tilting her head back and moaning.

I felt sick. I could not believe my angelic mother would let something like that happen. In the back of a dirty old van? With my asshole cousin of all people on Earth?

I realized we’d been sitting at the intersection for too long. I feared they would realize the van wasn’t moving. In turn, that would lead them to realize I’d been watching. So I hit the gas and started driving the remaining few miles back to our house. All the while, the knowledge of what was going on behind me ate a hole in me from the inside. I tried to block it out as best I could.

I pulled into our long driveway and parked the car up near the house. I hadn’t heard any more sounds from the back of the van. Maybe they had been drowned out by the radio. Or maybe I had mentally blocked them out. When I cut the engine and the radio went silent, I still didn’t hear anything. I felt relieved. Maybe Mom had put a stop to it.

I was just about to get out when Mom popped her head through the curtain. For a split second I almost didn’t recognize her. Her cheeks were flushed pink. Her golden hair was messy. She didn’t look like herself. She told me to go on inside the house and that she’d be there in a few minutes. I asked what she meant. Why wasn’t she coming with me? She said she felt a little light-headed and needed to sit a while longer.

I wanted to trust her. She’d appeared tipsy only minutes before, so what she was saying was certainly possible. But for the first time I could remember, I felt like my mother wasn’t being honest with me. I said OK, that I would see her inside. She pulled her head back and then pulled the curtain to make sure it was closed. I knew right then she was lying.

I opened the driver’s door. I fully intended to slink away. To sit there quietly inside the house as my mother and cousin got up to God knows what in the back of his van. But for some reason I couldn’t bring myself to leave. So I slammed the door closed while still behind the wheel. Naturally, they assumed I’d left.

Perhaps I’ve blocked out some of what came next, or I just don’t recall all these years later. But the way I remember, it was almost immediately after I shut the door that the van started swaying and I heard my mother moaning again.

I clamped my eyes shut and tried to block out what I was hearing. I knew what was happening and I wanted to vomit. In a strange way I felt betrayed by my mother. More than that I felt humiliated. It had been my decision to stay in the van, but it felt like they were purposely rubbing my face in it. Even if I’d left, would I not look outside after a few minutes? Would I not see the van rocking back and forth? Did they not care if I knew?

I don’t remember how long I listened, but I eventually decided I needed to see it for myself. I opened the curtain a crack to look.

My cousin had a cooler in the back of his van. Red and white. I still remember the color because it’s what my mother was bent over while my cousin was screwing her. Her shirt was pulled up over her breasts. Her bra had been removed. My sainted mother was being fucked doggy style, her big breasts bouncing, moaning like she couldn’t get enough.

The sight of it burned me to my soul. But I couldn’t look away. The subconscious desire I had for my mother, feelings I had never previously admitted to myself, were suddenly thrust to the forefront. It was hitting me like a tidal wave. I sat there angry, humiliated, jealous, and as aroused as I’d ever been in my life.

From my point of view, I was looking at them from the side. I was in no danger of them seeing me through the little crack in the curtain. I watched until I couldn’t take it anymore, then sat there silently behind the wheel. Ashamed. Embarrassed. Still hard.

For my cousin, it wasn’t enough that he was fucking her. He had to talk throughout it. Saying he could tell how badly she needed it. That my dad must not be taking care of business. Asking her if she’d ever taken such a big dick. My mother never said a word in response. She just kept groaning and begging for more.

I don’t remember them finishing. The next thing I recall is hearing them getting dressed again, cleaning up. My mother suddenly sounded nervous and told my cousin he couldn’t tell anyone what they’d done. He told her not to worry. Then he told her how much he’d always wanted to fuck her. She giggled like a schoolgirl.

They left out the back of the van. I ducked down on the seats and peeked up over the dash as they went inside. A few minutes later I quietly left the van and ran out behind the house, like I’d been working on something back there. I don’t know how long I stayed outside, but I eventually made my way in through the back door.

My mother was in the kitchen. She said she’d wondered where I was. She came towards me with her arm out, as if to put it around me. For a moment I bristled, not wanting her to touch me. But I knew I wouldn’t be able to stay mad at her, so there was no sense in trying. I let her put her arm around me and then I pressed myself against her for a hug. She wrapped her arms around me and kissed my head. She was being perfectly normal, like nothing had happened. But I could still smell the faint scents of sweat and sex on her

My cousin had a giant smirk on his face for the rest of his stay. Managing to fuck a blood relative, his mother’s sister, had made him even more arrogant than before. A few different times he said things to my father that seemed harmless at face value. But with the knowledge that he’d fucked my dad’s wife, I knew he was actually mocking him.

If there was any more inappropriate behavior between my mother and cousin, I didn’t see it. I spent Saturday night shadowing her, never letting her out of my sight. If they planned to slip away for a repeat performance of what happened that afternoon, I wanted to do my best to prevent it. But she never tried to get away. If anything, she seemed to enjoy having me at her side.

When he left the next day, he gave my mother a big hug. In front of my father, he went overboard praising her generous hospitality and thanking her for making him feel so welcome. Again, the kind of thing that seems begin on its face, but has deeper meaning when you know the truth of the matter.

Then he got in his van and drove away. Life went on. Naturally, my mother never spoke a word of what happened. Many times I thought about asking her respectfully. Confronting her angrily. Calmly telling her what I’d seen. Bitterly blaming her for the burden I now carried, a secret that could ruin our family. But I could never find the courage to do any of it.

That weekend forever changed how I viewed her. I still loved her. Even knowing what she’d done, she remained an angel in my eyes. But it was different. Now her wings were stained

To this day, late at night, when I’m alone, I picture her bent over that cooler. Her big breasts swaying while she moans. But instead of my cousin kneeling behind her, I imagine it’s me.

I hate that I have that image of her in my head. But after almost forty years, I still can’t stop thinking about it.

Last summer my Mom and I went to visit my Aunt Amy. She’s my fun aunt. And my hot aunt too. While we were there I met some of her girlfriends and none of them called her Amy. They called her “Soogs”. One just called her “Soog”. I asked her why they called her this weird name and she said it was a takeoff on her nickname, which is Sugar.

I asked why her nickname is Sugar and Mom changed the subject. It sounded like a stripper name to me so I wondered if maybe she used to be a stripper. It would fit her personality. Whenever I looked at her after that I would picture her stripping.

A couple days before we left to go back home, Aunt Amy and I were downstairs at her house and my mom was taking a shower upstairs. I asked her again why her nickname was Sugar. She said she wasn’t supposed to tell me on orders from my mom. I knew if my mom didn’t want me to hear then it must be a good story. I told her Mom not wanting me to know just made me want to know even more. She said Mom not wanting her to tell me made her want to tell me.

I asked if she had been a stripper and she cracked up. She said no but that it was a good guess. She told me that one time one of her girlfriends (the one who called her Soog) was kissing her and she said she tasted like sugar. She started calling her Sugar after that and the name stuck.

I was a little disappointed because it didn’t seem like such a big deal. I asked why she and her friend were kissing and she dodged the question. She just said girls do things like that sometimes.

Then she asked if I wanted to kiss her and see for myself. I said sure! She plopped down on the couch next to me and gave me a huge kiss. Closed mouth but still a big kiss. She asked if I could taste it. I smacked my lips together and said no, I didn’t taste sugar.

She laughed and said that made sense because it wasn’t her mouth where her girlfriend had been kissing her. I said where was she kissing you? She said a little farther down than her mouth. She gestured downward and I realized she meant her friend was eating her pussy. I guess her pussy must taste really sweet. That made more sense for why my mom didn’t want her telling me, since it was a sex story.

Her friend was hot so naturally I started to picture my hot aunt and her hot friend getting it on. She said she wasn’t a lesbian if that’s what I was wondering. Sometimes she and her friends just had fun together. I said I wasn’t wondering anything, I was picturing it. That made her laugh.

But I went hold on, why did you kiss me if I wouldn’t be able to taste it? She said she just wanted to kiss me. Then I asked if she really tasted like sugar down there. She shrugged and said that’s what she’s been told. Then she leaned into my ear and that I should come visit her without my mom and she’d let me find out for myself. She kissed me on the cheek three times real fast and then got up and walked away.

I sat there all flustered. I didn’t know if she was being serious or what. But a few days later when we were leaving, she said to my mom that we (her and I) had agreed I was going to come visit her by myself soon. My mom laughed and said “Like I’d let him be alone with you”.

So I dunno lol. There are no plans for me to visit that I know of. But I sure as fuck hope it happens.

A reader shares a story with us:

I love doing three things when I am high: eat, cum, and sleep.
Tonight was one of those nights in which I allow myself to smoke a blunt and just relax by myself. By the time I finish smoking, all my senses are amplified. Time seems to go slower, and it feels like you can feel every centimeter of your skin. I was in that stage, and quickly got turned on. I lay in bed and pick some random clip on a porn site.

I guess it should be good time to tell the readers a couple of things now: I am a 20 year old girl; I am sexually attracted by girls and boys, but most of all, my sexuality as a whole is quite open and flexible. So much so that I have been following this blog for 2 years now; I also have had quite a “Oedipus complex” phase. Although I never felt sexual attraction to my actual father, I loved the idea of incestuous relationships, and because of that I felt super embarrassed being around him at times. My anxiety made me feel like it was probably apparent that I had some type of thought like that; and last but not least, my dad is, pretty openly, a very sexual person.

Now that that’s out of the way, back to the story: I was high and horny.
Another thing about me is, I don’t get super wet unless I get high. And my favorite way to be while horny is wet, of course, so I enjoy masturbating 1000x more while high. I began watching an amateur video and for whatever unconscious reason, began to see my dad on the video; the man had his back to the camera, so it wasn’t too hard to imagine it. because of all the things I said before, this came as a surprising, however not totally unbelievable, unconscious fantasy.

I closed my eyes and began to ignore the video and imagine my dad fucking me instead. I fantasized about him pounding me hard from behind while I laid down on the bed, grabbing and slapping my ass, and telling me he always knew his baby girl wanted daddy to fuck her. I moaned and kept sliding my pussy up and down his hard cock. Apparently, though, this wasn’t quite enough for how highly free and sexual I was feeling, and I began to imagine while we were in this position my step mom was laying naked with her legs spread wide open and my mouth on her pussy. I could hear her moaning on my head while my dad kept on fucking me and calling me his naughty slut.

I was so fucking wet, and felt everything more intensely than ever before. I adore to feel like a naughty, dirty slut, and what’s more dirty than that? I rubbed my clit and grinded my my hips back and forth at the same time. It felt like every moment touching myself imagining that was an orgasm on it’s own.

I am, however, a big fan of a change in the scenario, so by the time I was getting close to climax, I decided to change positions and keep my step mom watching me and my dad. He sit on the edge of the bed and I sat o his lap, with my legs spread open for him. I rode his cock up and down with passion, sliding my pussy up and down his big hard dick and moaning so fucking bad. I loved the way he stared at me, then we began kissing. I could feel his tongue on mine, and his cock inside of me. It didn’t take me long to cum after this feeling; I had multiple orgasms.

As I’m writing this, I am getting all wet again. It was one of my best experiences by far! I know the is relatively short, but hopefully is sufficient for some of you; I love a good real daughter-dad story, so I had to share with you all. xoxox

I know a lot of you are awaiting the next part of A Mom’s Tale, but I haven’t gotten it yet. So nothing to update on that front, I’m afraid.

However, a while back I posted some shorter reader stories, including “Fucking My Mom”, the tale of a guy who successfully talked his mom into some carnal activity after his dad started working nights.

I got several asks hoping for an update on that story, a few of which I posted to the blog. He saw ‘em and sent us this. You should really read the first part if you haven’t already, though.

Go ahead. I’ll wait.

All done?

OK. Here’s the update.

Well, we’re still fucking. A lot. We fuck a couple times a night on the nights when dad works. When he’s home we still find ways to mess around. We usually sneak up to my bathroom and fuck there. But lately we’ve tried some other things. That started after we had a talk and she brought up getting a divorce. She asked what I thought. I said no because I like to fuck her when dad’s home and we couldn’t do that anymore if they got divorced. I was joking but I do like it.

She told me she likes messing around when he’s home too. I think she likes doing it right under his nose as way of getting back at him. She came up with some ideas on more ways we could do it behind his back. The only one we’ve done so far is she gave me a blowjob in the kitchen while dad was watching TV. She got on her knees behind the island so if he walked in he would only see me. But he didn’t come in. She has other ideas but we haven’t done those yet.

I had my own idea and we did that. I told you last time she let me fuck her in the ass. We’ve done it a couple more times since then. I told her it would be hot if we did it that way when he was home because he’s never fucked her ass and we would be doing it right under his nose. She liked that idea. She said she’s glad I’m as fucked up as she is.

So a couple weeks ago while dad was home we went up to my bathroom and I fucked her in the ass. It was different than all the other times we’ve fucked because we were extra careful to make sure dad wouldn’t hear anything. She makes a lot more noise when it’s in her ass. To make sure she didn’t get too loud It ended up being slow and gentle instead of hard like we normally do it.

When I was about to cum she told me to cum inside her. I hadn’t cum inside her at all before then. She told me after that nobody had ever cum in her ass before. So it was a first for us. Then I grabbed some tissues and she pushed the cum back out while I wiped it up. It was hot and felt very intimate. When we were done she told me she loves me. I know she does but she never said it after we fucked before. At least not that I remember. But that made me realize as much fun it is getting to fuck my mom, it’s not all about sex. Doing it has meant a lot for our relationship. It’s made us closer in a lot of ways. When I told her that the next day she even got emotional which is rare for her. I think she was touched.

Ever since then when dad’s at work and we’re alone I think the sex has been more about us than her getting back at dad. Fucking is bringing us so much closer and we were close to start with. She’s even swallowed my cum a couple times in the last few weeks after never doing it the first couple months. This is working out even better than I ever hoped it would.

That’s all I can think to tell you. This continues to be the best thing that’s ever happened to me. To anyone hoping to start up the same thing with their mom, all I can tell you is you got to be up front with her and try. It worked for me.

As she did the very first time, and so many times after, she came into my room, quietly, softly. She locks the door behind her, and though it is dark in the room, I can make out her form, as her robe drops to the floor. She walks over to my bed, where I am awaiting her aroma, her presence, her touch, her lips. I am already aroused and erect. She senses my anticipation, as she lays her lean, petite body on top of mine, and looks into my eyes. I feel her breath, as she caresses my lips with hers. Her tongue darts against my mine, and we share the fullness of our passion. I rest my hands on her ass cheeks, and gently squeeze. She whimpers just a little into my mouth. Then she moves her body up enough that I can kiss her breasts, and suck her nipples, one at a time. She lets out a sharp breath, as I gently suck her nipple, and play with the other. Then, I move my hand between her legs, and she quietly gasps as I brush a finger against her clitoris, and her opening.

 I want her now, but I am patient, not wanting to rush things. I pull her up further, and she straddles my face. She knows I love to pleasure her in this position. I love to feel her body tremble above me when she cums. I tease, touch, lick, and suck at her expertly. I know exactly what sets her off. I reach up, and roll her nipple between my finger and thumb. It doesn’t take long before she nears her climax. Within another minute, she cums, muffling her own voice, for fear of discovery. She quickly turns around, and engulfs my cock in her mouth. Her years of experience are merciless in giving me pleasure. In less than 5 minutes, my stiffening body warns her of what’s to come. She again whimpers, and then moans slightly, as I fill her mouth.

 She then turns to mount me, as instead of softening, I feel even harder, and more excited as she mounts me. She gasps as I enter her. She eases down on me, and then begins a slow and deliberate up and down movement. She starts with small movements, and gradually increases until she is taking me all in, and pulling me almost all the way out. I feel her muscles tighten around my shaft as she comes upward, and relaxed slightly as she comes down on me. She leans down, kissing my lips, and nibbling at my ear lobe briefly. Yet her movements remain steady. Then, the telltale signs of her impending orgasm appear. Her breathing changes. She picks up her pace a little. I reach up and begin stimulating her nipples again. She whispers an endearment…”Ohhh baby. You make me feel so good.” Then her climax sets in. She trembles and convulses slightly, tightening her muscles around me at first. Then clinching, releasing, clinching, releasing, until she calms.

 She continues her movements. Her eyes closed, and her countenance blissful. Before long, I am nearing my own climax. “Don’t hold it back. I want to feel it.” My body tenses, and the feeling is exquisite this time, as it has been every other time. Then I relax, and look up at her smiling down at me. She leans down and kisses me with such zeal and passion. Then she pulls back just enough to say…

“I love you, my baby. I always have, and I always will.”

“Mom. I want us to be together, forever.”

“Soon my love. It won’t be much longer. I promise.”

Then she leaves, just as she came in, and I am left alone, with only memories of her aroma, her touch, her lips, her soft and loving voice. Until next time.

Hey, I found your blog not too long ago. I love it, its great. I need to brag about this and I can’t tell anybody I know so here goes.

I’ve been fucking my mom for a few weeks now. I’ve wanted to fuck her for a long time but I never knew how. Then a few months back my dad started working nights. He didn’t even talk to her first. They offered more money if he moved to nights and he took it. She was so pissed. They fight all the time and she’s talked about divorce before. I thought this could be what pushes her to go through with it. She hasn’t yet though.

But for me it was win win. If they got divorced I’d live with her and we’d be alone all the time. But even if they didn’t with dad working nights mom and I would be alone every night. It was my chance to get in her pants finally.

Like most people I’ve learned over the years how to handle my mom. I know the best way to get what I want is not to bullshit her. I tell her up front what I want. If she says no I keep at it until I wear her down and talk her into it. Nothing I wanted ever involved sex before but even so I decided I would go at this the same way. I was going to tell her up front I thought we should fuck. I figured she would say no. But I also knew she wouldn’t tell dad because she was so pissed at him. Then she would know what I wanted and I could go to work on talking her into it.

It took a couple days to work up the nerve. It was a few days into dad working nights. We were alone. She was still pissed off. I said how she deserved better than dad. She deserved a guy who would treat her like she deserved. I laid it on thick. Then I said I thought we should fuck. She didn’t even say no, she just laughed at me. But I didn’t expect her to say yes. Now I could start working her.

Every night after that I kept at it. I went at it from every angle. I told her how I knew she needed it. How sexy she was. How I always wanted to. We were alone. Nobody would know. We already loved each other.

Three weeks to the day after I told her we should fuck I came up behind her in the kitchen. I was laying it on thick as always. I slid my hands up to her tits, which I had tried before but only to see how far she’d let me go before knocking my hands away. I never legit tried to touch them. I touched her ass a few times though. But this time she didn’t stop me. My hands reached her tits without her stopping me. I squeezed them. Then I started kissing her neck. She wriggled free and turned around. I thought at first she was mad because she sort of pushed me away as she got free.

But she said to go up to my room, she’d be there in a few minutes. I said are we gonna do it? She said just go to your room. I did and she came in a few minutes later. She said this was crazy. She went “how could I let you talk me into this”? She threatened to kill me if I told anyone. Then we fucked.

And I mean we *fucked*. Hot. Nasty. Rough. Angry. It was like revenge sex. I think she looked at it like she was saying fuck off to dad, which was fine by me. Since then we’ve done it every night he’s at work. A few times we’ve even fucked up in my bathroom while he’s home. It’s not always angry like the first time but it’s never soft and sweet. We fuck hard.

It’s been better than I ever imagined. And its got even better the last few days. We fucked and were getting dressed after. She bent over to pick something up. I slapped her on the butt and said how about letting me fuck you up the ass next time? I wasn’t even being serious but I wanted to see what she would say. She said that wasn’t going to happen.

Well, two nights ago it happened. She let me fuck her ass. That’s good enough by itself but here’s the best part. She said she hadn’t taken it that way since her boyfriend in college. I didn’t say this to her yet but I know she and dad didn’t meet until after college. So if she was telling the truth about the last time she did it that means I’ve fucked her up the ass and dad hasn’t. I feel like I should thank him for deciding to work nights lol.

Well, I just wanted to tell someone about this. This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me so I needed to brag a little. Thanks for listening.

I was the 10th of 10 kids. As “the baby of the family,” I’d always been very close to my mother. She was short - a bit chunky - and cute. I admired her, and - as I entered puberty - began to feel more than love for my mother. I began to feel “mother love!”

In the winter I turned 18 years old, I made a decision to step up and make a move to express my true feelings. My mother was getting ready for a social outing. It was just before noon, and she was to meet friends for the afternoon. She and I were the only ones home, so timing was perfect. I noticed the bathroom door ajar, and I could see her putting on her makeup.

I entered the bathroom, and closed the door behind us. As she “did her face,” I pressed against her from behind. My heart was racing, my breathing heaving. I was already getting an erection, and pressed it against her ample ass. She neither said nor did anything.

I took her lack of response as an invitation, so reached around and began to hug her. Soon, I slipped a hand up to her chest, to the v of her blouse. Quickly, but smoothly, I slipped a hand inside her bodice. Still, she did nothing to deter me. As such, I continued, and slid that hand inside the cup of her bra. She stopped with her make-up, and sighed a deep sigh.

We continued. I turned her around, and released my now-hard cock from its confinement. I guided her hand to my member, and stroked it with her hand. I then let go, and she continued to stroke me. That led to going to her bedroom (6 steps from the bathroom). We ended up in her bed, and had the first of many encounters of a body-mind-spirit connection. I grew up very fast in this era of life.

I still think of her, though she passed 27 years ago. In fact, I still masturbate to my memories of our love-making.

If needed, catch up on parts oneandtwo. Then return for the exciting conclusion!

Just a note, there’s a line about halfway through that references parts four and five. I think the author had this split into six parts, but he sent two at a time and that’s how I posted it. I figured doing it that way would give you something nice and long to read each time. Like part one was 1 & 2, part two was 3 & 4, and this one is 5 & 6. You can see below where there’s a little separator, that’s like the break between them.

I just didn’t want anyone to go “Part 5? I missed something!” Don’t worry, it’s all here.

Enjoy!

Again, my apologies, I know some of you want me to get to the point but I think the slower route is usually the more scenic one.

I made sure to get home later than usual that night. When I came in the house was dark save for the living room. Mom was watching TV, drinking a bottle of beer. That was odd for her she only drank socially as far as I had seen. We talked a little, said goodnight, and I went to bed.

I remembered throwing my dirty clothes in a heap in front of my bathroom door in my rush to get out of the house. When I went to my bathroom to brush my teeth I noticed that the soiled shirt I had been wearing had been partially pulled out of the pile so that the telltale stain was completely visible. I did my own laundry and Mom always respected a closed door so I had no reason to think that she had come in to pick up dirty clothes. She wouldn’t have done that anyway. But, it looked too deliberate to be coincidental. I didn’t know what to think about it but it was late and I was tired.

She slept in that morning which was fine by me. The question of the shirt was still looming overhead, that’s why I made it a priority to do laundry right away; getting rid of the evidence for all the good it may have done me at that point. I still wondered about it the whole day.

When I got back from work that day she appeared to be her usual self. She said nothing about the shirt. I couldn’t tell if anything was amiss so I let it be. Eventually, I convinced myself that I had left the shirt like that and believed that to be the case for a while.

The next several months went by without incident then strange things started to happen. For instance, I’d come back from work or classes and my laptop had been opened or moved. That doesn’t sound like much, I know, but when you keep one thing in one place day after day you do notice if it’s been moved. Besides, taken in tandem with other signs that someone was snooping, I felt sure that my suspicions about my computer were confirmed. Not that Mom or anyone would have gotten anything off of it. I always deleted my browsing history.   

There were other signs too; she’d make a fuss about doing my laundry for me-an excuse to go through my clothes or get into my room, I’d catch her peeking from time to time at my phone whenever I had it out, leading questions about where I was going for the night, who I was going with, it looked like my bathroom drawers had been gone through a couple of times, etc., etc.

There were also very obvious changes in her behavior. Her style of dress changed. Around the house, Mom was always a t-shirt and jeans girl. She liked to be fashionable and comfortable. Her clothes became a little more fitted, snug, not revealing per se but more fetching. I seemed to be seeing more of her underwear. Not on her, obviously, but around the house. Some of her underthings had to be washed by hand and I would see them, air drying on hangers, in the basement laundry room; that wasn’t like her at all. Normally, she kept those kinds of things in her bathroom. I mentioned that she has to specially order her bras. Sometimes, I’d come home and on the kitchen table there would be an open package with her new bra or bras half pulled out. I also noticed that her underwear was getting to be more ornate, sheer, and much more titillating.

It may seem to you that she was dropping some pretty obvious hints. I’ll visit her side of this time later but for now I want you to know that I didn’t believe any of her new behavior had anything to do with me. I’d caught snippets of conversation between her and her girlfriends that she was on the dating; when I heard that, believe it or not, I was genuinely happy for her. Even though it was weird to think of her as being someone who would date-she was my mom-I was glad for her. That had become all the explanation I needed. As far as I knew then there hadn’t been a guy in her life since that night with my father. So I was able to attribute some of these changes to her social life.

Still there were other events that should have been a clue to me that her regard for me had changed. Some of them were subtle and some were not so subtle. But most of the time I could rationalize or invent a reason why my suspicions were completely wrong. For instance, sometimes, very late at night, I’d hear an audible humming sound coming from her room. The idea that she masturbated wasn’t strange to me; that she would masturbate with a vibrator (I found out later that it was a Sybian) without bothering to be as discreet wasn’t like her though. Those nights I would stare at my bedroom ceiling and take care of myself. In the morning I’d tell myself, “Hey, she’s human too, she has needs like the rest of us.” And that was very true, she may be Mom but she’s also a woman, right? I always found a way to explain these things away.

But some of those things couldn’t be explained at all as being within the scope of her normal behavior or even being just normal. Two in particular stand out.

I had been in the habit of keeping sketchbooks for years. Some were for what I considered serious work, some were for doodles, some were more or less workbooks where I hashed out new techniques, and a few were private ones. Like I said, Mom had always until recently at that time, respected my privacy. I never felt the need to hide anything and really, who hides a sketchbook? In those private sketchbooks I’d draw her or women like her, rudimentary erotic comics featuring her or incest related scenarios with characters of my own creation; my own Tijuana bibles. I was very influenced by artists like Hanz Kovaqc, Frank Thorne, Robert Crumb, Milo Manara, several hentai artists and others. I was drawn to their technique and to their stories. I liked dirty comics, okay? I was ashamed about it but at the same time I figured that it was no more perverse than confiding those same impulses into the pages of a written journal.

Anyway, one day I had come home from running some errands and Mom told me that a lot of mail had come for me and she had put it in my room. I didn’t think anything of it, sometimes she did that. When I went to my bedroom all of my mail was in a neat stack at the foot of my bed while, in the center of my bed was my current private sketchbook. There was no way it had been left by me; no way. Even the way it was placed was done to draw attention to the fact that it wasn’t there by accident. When I saw it I felt like the bottom of my stomach hadn’t just dropped out, it had crashed through the floor and was pulling all of my innards along with it. After I put it away, I went downstairs expecting to walk into a talk. Instead, Mom was in the kitchen getting dinner together. She asked if I got the mail. I said I had. She nodded and held my eye with hers for a little longer than was normal. Mom didn’t say anything at all. When it was obvious I wasn’t going to say anything she smiled sweetly, put her hand on my cheek and squeezed my shoulder before caring on like nothing was out of the ordinary. I didn’t know what to make of it. Again, there was the abundance of evidence but nothing direct enough to give me the requisite bravery to take the leap.

The other incident concerned Livia. Mom had never broached the subject even though I was pretty sure she had a good guess about what had happened between us. It was autumn and she was going to have a kind of pre-holiday open house for her friends and her co-workers. What happened wasn’t that involved. When you think about it though, what happens when you step on a landmine isn’t that involved either. I was helping her prepare again. My attendance was, as always, optional. We were conversing naturally; “Are you making those bacon-things?” “Could you bring folding table in from the garage?”

Nothing was out of the ordinary. I asked her when the people were going to start showing up. She told me and then she said, “Livia said she and Foster will be here around 3.” Mom was cutting up some vegetables for a relish tray. “She said that they would be arriving together, they’re both bringing something so I don’t think she’ll be alone.” And just like that I knew that she knew.

“Oh,” I said. I looked at her to see if she would say anything else. The only thing she did was look up from the vegetables with this small smile on her face.

“Oh,” she repeated, with her eyebrows raised. She came around the counter then and gave me a hug. But it wasn’t any of her usual hugs. We’re the same height when she’s in heels; actually she’s just a bit taller in heels. Anyway, she didn’t say anything at first she put one arm around my shoulder and put her hand on the back of my head. The other arm snaked around my midsection and pulled her body against mine. She had never been this intimate with me before. I didn’t know how to react-I can see some people reading this doing a face palm as I write this. I put my arms around her loosely and she swayed us from side to side. She’s a sturdy woman so it wasn’t hard for her to rock us both.  I knew her breasts were big but feeling them against me added another dimension to the knowledge.  I felt her smile against the side of my cheek. Mom didn’t say anything; soon she let go.

She patted my arm and said, “Stay away from that one.” She wasn’t angry about it and her tone was a little serious; more like she was giving me general advice than anything else. After I helped her set up I left.

There were a lot of reasons why I didn’t act on any of these signs. For one, even though they would’ve been obvious to an outside observer they weren’t necessarily obvious to me. And secondly, I loved her. I knew I wasn’t in love with her then or now but I definitely loved and continue to love her. We were and still are very close. Besides being mother and son we were friends, we talked to each other, we shared things, and we did things together. I was afraid of destroying that. It’s not that I thought she would have been disgusted by my sexual interest in her but I knew that it would have fundamentally changed the dynamic of our relationship and our friendship. It was too much to risk. At any rate, I thought the whole thing would kind of end. I was moving out soon, going to another school. I thought with some distance these feelings would eventually run their course.

–

This is where it finally happens. I owe it all to a family of bears…..seriously.

I lived apart from her for about a year and a half. We kept in touch. We stayed close. Eventually she wanted to move again and I moved back to help her. She bought a fixer-upper, like she normally did. It was mutually advantageous. She didn’t have to hire help. I was transferring to another college in the area anyway. I was glad to be back. She was glad to have me back.  

We were living on the west coast, I think I mentioned that. The new place was in the Pacific Northwest and our property was located on a far flung cull de sac in a smallish, heavily forested neighborhood. It was pretty remote. Mom loves nature as long as it’s on the other side of the window. The perfect place for her is someplace where you couldn’t see the lights of the city but you could drive to town in less than 30 minutes. In that sense she had struck gold. The house itself was on the southernmost edge of a national forest.

We had been living there for about three months. Most of the big repairs had been taken care of. We were down to mostly cosmetic repairs with some major stuff left. When we first moved in there had been a circular sent around by the local Fish and Wildlife department warning newcomers to the area about what to do if they encountered some of the local wildlife; moose, mountain lions, wolves, and bears. She worried about it at first but eventually we both forgot all about it. 

The backyard opened literally to a forest. Mom had spoken about wanting to get it fenced in, especially after she saw the circular but she had grown used to looking out the big kitchen window and seeing it, being able to open the big sliding glass patio doors and walk into the woods beyond. She loved it. She hated the patio doors though. We both did. They were flimsy. They didn’t close well. They were drafty. A well placed kick could knock them off their tracks. They were on the list of repairs. They became a priority pretty soon.

One of the things that we had been warned about by our neighbors and the circular was storing trash properly; especially food waste or anything that had been used as a food container. We were really busy with the renovations though and we began to let it slide. It was easier to just open those crappy patio doors since they were so close to the kitchen and put the trash into the trash can than walk our trash all the way down the drive to put it in the critter safe waste barrel.  

Anyway, one night, Mom shook me awake. It was pitch black. There’s no dark like country dark. I could barely see her.

“There’s something outside,” she said.

“What?”

“There’s something outside,” she said again more urgently.

Mom’s not afraid of people at all. When it comes to animals she isn’t as formidable. My first thought was raccoons, possums, that sort of thing. I tried to tell her that but she pulled me out of the bed by my arm. She led me to the kitchen and froze right in front of it. I was glad that the lights were out because I could see clearly through the big kitchen window and the patio doors. Three bears, a mother and two cubs were snuffling around the trash cans. While we watched they knocked them over and began to root around in the contents. We had been told that bears were making a comeback in the area. We both knew about how protective mother bears could be. What really scared Mom and me when I noticed it was that the patio doors had been left open. The only thing between the kitchen and the bears was the cheapest imaginable wire screen in a flimsy patio door.

The kitchen was clean, it was always clean but I guess the bear smelled the food underneath the smells of Clorox and Lysol. The big bear, I’m sure it was the mother, started to paw at the screen. It bowed inward and then we heard it pop out of the track. The only thing I could think to do was flip on the light and start yelling. I grabbed two pots from the hanging rack above the kitchen island and started to bang them together, yelling. It worked. They all shot away into the dark.

We both looked at one another for a moment and then I broke into nervous laughter. Mom kept saying “Jesus Christ,” over and over again.

We both cleaned up the trash that they had gotten into. I took it into the garage for the night while Mom called around to find out who was responsible for acts of bear, I guess. She gave up, eventually, and said she’d take care of it in the morning. I closed and locked the glass patio doors. For a while we both sat at the kitchen table staring out at the forest in the backyard.

She asked me to get her pack. Mom smoked at times; very, very, occasionally though. Normally right after a move or when she was really busy. “Takes the edge off the tough ones,” she’d say. Her method of keeping herself from getting addicted to them was by giving the pack to me to hold for her. She knew I wouldn’t smoke and I never did.  She had shown me pictures of diseased lungs, cancer patients, that kind of thing to scare me away from them. She smoked but she wasn’t a smoker. It would take her a week or a week and a half to clear a pack.

I got them and she lit up right there in the kitchen. I turned on the exhaust hood over the stove to take out the smoke. That said a lot about how unsettled she was at the moment. When she did smoke she never did it in the house or her car. I let her puff away. I was more worried about the patio doors. It was starting to get windy and I could hear them rattling in their frames. I went outside again, she protested a little but we both agreed the bears were long gone for the night, and I dragged this large, long picnic table that was in the backyard to the patio doors. It was longer than the doors were wide. It was also heavier than I thought it was. I wanted to turn it on its side so it would lay with the table surface across the patio doors. That’s how I got hurt. When I was lifting it to turn it on its side and gently lean it across the doors I overextended something in my lower back. Mom could tell that I was hurt when I came back in.

“Turn around hun,” she said. I did and I felt her lift up the bottom of my t-shirt and press firmly into my lower back feeling around. She said that it was in spasm, nothing serious, and that she could see to it. At first, I thought she would just give me some Tylenol.

“Go take a hot shower,” she said. “Use mine it’s got the massage setting.” “I’ll use yours,” she said. She was looking at both of us. I was covered in spider-webs and nature crap from the picnic table in addition to the garbage juice that had gotten on both of us from cleaning up the trash that the bears had been going through.

When I got out of the shower I noticed that the bed clothes I had been wearing were gone. I wrapped myself in a towel and crept out of the bathroom. Mom had already finished her shower and was back in her room, sitting on the bed, with her laptop open. She looked a lot different. When she had woken me up she was an oversized bed-shirt and lounge pants, with her hair in the practical pony tail she usually wore around the house. Now her hair was down, it’s thick and wavy, very luxurious. She was wearing these plaid boy shorts with a white bed t-shirt. Her hips were packed into those boy shorts, I had never seen her show so much thigh to me before. Her bed-t had some kind of graphic on it I can’t remember it because her breasts were stretching it out so much that I couldn’t tell what it really was. Besides her nipples were hard adding another distraction, the fabric seemed to mold around them perfectly. What was really jarring was simply seeing her like that:  her laptop open as she sat Indian style on her bed. It was like seeing her when she was in college herself. It was weird.

“Did the massage setting help?”

“Yeah, it did,” the sharp pain had subsided. As long as I held myself a certain way it wasn’t bad at all.

I noticed that her bedroom door was closed and I could tell that it was locked. She put the laptop aside.

“Good, c’mere hun,” she rubbed the other side of the bed she was on. “Go ahead and lie down, let me work on your back.”

I did. She left the room to get something saying she’d be right back. There hadn’t been any of the weird tension that had been between us that I talked about in Part 4 or Part 5. I felt completely relaxed. I still had the feelings that I had always had for her but I wasn’t as held by them as I once was. She was always comfortable around me, until that point I don’t think I was as comfortable around her. It’s hard to explain. The best way to describe it was that it was like I felt that if she wasn’t my mother I would never be this close to someone like her. I hope that makes sense.

Anyway, she came back with her pack of smokes and a saucer to tap into. I remember looking up at her as I was lying on my stomach and realizing that something was going to happen. I just knew. She had this look on her face when she took off her earrings, when I saw it I knew that she thought something was going to happen too. Why else did she lock the bedroom door again?

She got on the bed behind me.

“Okay, let’s see,” she pushed her thumbs right into the left of my lower back. I grunted. If you’ve messed up some muscles in your lower back you know the sensations when someone starts to work the kinks out. I just felt heat and pain at first. It wasn’t bad, just enough to make you grunt or grit your teeth. Eventually, the muscles un-knotted and she began rubbing my back in these long strokes from my shoulders all the way down to where the towel was wrapped around my mid-section. It was great. I felt like I was sinking into her bed. My breath was slower, deeper, and then I started to smell that rose oil she wore. My back broke out in gooseflesh instantly. I tensed up. And I got hard.

“Relax, breathe hun,” she said, “it’s all okay.” She leaned forward over me, I felt her grab my shoulders gently, felt each of her large breasts and hard nipples press into my back. She pulled the hair away from my ear and kissed me on the lobe. I heard her whisper the same thing she had said before and felt her teeth gently touch the same place she had kissed. The feeling of her breath on my ear, Jesus; I’ve felt it since but that first time has an irreplaceable clarity. She stayed there kneading my shoulders for a while and then laid her whole body on top of mine. I wasn’t tense anymore. The goose pimples were gone. The erection remained.

“Feel good?”

“Yeah,” I said. Words are so stupid sometimes, small clumsy things that don’t do anything but take up space. Her weight, her warmth, her smell, it’s beyond describing.

“Good,” she said.

She changed her position so that she was straddling my right leg. She drove her knee up slowly between my thighs until she pushed up the towel that I had on up past my knees before she lay down beside me and propped herself up with her elbow. Her other hand undid the towel on my other side. When I turned to look at her she had on the same direct expression I knew. She was also smiling.

“Do you want to lie on your back?” We both knew doing that would leave me bare. I bit into my lower lip and turned over. It’s seems ridiculous that even now I was still afraid to pull the trigger. I was beside her naked, with all but one part of me completely horizontal. Mom snuggled in close and pulled my arm around her. She draped herself across my chest. I swear I could feel her heart beating through her nipples. She started to run her hand across my torso.

“Tell me what you want from me, hun. I know, but I want to hear it from you. I want to do this. I want to but I need you to say it.”

I closed my eyes and told her. I felt her nodding; she said okay, she had questions though. The discussion wasn’t lengthy. We said what needed saying. She asked if I was in love with her as opposed to just loving her. I told her I knew the difference and said I loved her deeply but wasn’t in love with her. She said “good, I’m glad you know the difference.” She made sure I understood that what might happen between us was just between us. I said I understood of course. We both agreed that the situation was unusual and that we had to be honest with each other. She also made sure that I understood that we weren’t going to be a couple. I got that. I was fine with that; I never had the intention that we would change our relationship only the wish that we could add something to it. She asked me why her. I saw through that. She really wanted to know if she had done something or if I was damaged in some way. In short I told her that I had these feelings for her because I was attracted to her, her personality, her being her, I intentionally side stepped the whole oedipal thing; it didn’t apply. I didn’t hate my father, I didn’t think about him at all. I knew his name and that was about it. I was afraid that my kink would scare her. She didn’t let me get out of it that easily.

“And the whole me being your mom thing? Tell me about that.” I could feel her smile even though I couldn’t see it so I knew she was more or less committed to having sex with me; still, I answered her.

“Just a kink,” I said. “It’s taboo, I think that’s the attraction. I guess it developed for a couple of reasons.” I told her about the instances I related to you and some others. She was surprised about some of them. But I had some questions of my own. When I got to the stuff I covered in Part 4 and Part 5 I asked her the questions I had. It was the first time Mom ever hemmed and hawed with me but she opened up more quickly than I had.

She knew something went down with Livia. She asked me if I fucked her point blank then. When I said no, she said “Thank God, I gave that bitch the maloik during that whole party; the fucking whore.” She asked me what happened and I told her. Mom intertwined her leg with mine and started rubbing it up and down, it didn’t seem possible but I think I got even harder. It dawned on me that hearing about it was a turn on for her. She told me that after that party she had started to snoop around, she hated doing it, but she wanted to be sure I was being careful. At that point she grabbed my upper arm and faced me, “You have been careful right?” I told her I had been. I was no Lothario, I assured her. Before this moment I had all of three sexual encounters, Livia included. I didn’t tell her I was a virgin, she found out that night. She said that she had to know if Livia was plying me with sex to piss of Foster. When I told her there had just been that one instance she shook her head, “I thought so.”

I asked her about the sketchbook. She said that she had found that by accident. Mom was always interested in what I was drawing. Finding it had been a surprise. Mom said those sketches of herself had brought about a real mix of emotions. She wanted to talk with me about it but felt that it would be prying. Instead she gave me the chance to speak about it and I chose not to. She admitted that it had been hard for her not to press the matter. “I wanted you to be healthy, happy,…normal, y’know. No matter what I was feeling at the time.”

“How did you feel, though? You didn’t seem pissed or scared.”

“I was intrigued,” she said. “Knowing that you wanted to have me was…different, I can’t say that I was ever disturbed about it, hun. I wanted to know why, though, that’s for sure. I always knew you had an eye for me.” She reached up to touch my face then. “I thought it was puppy love, a sweet little crush, it was so cute.” She kissed the corner of my mouth and then full on the lips. “Knowing that you had been with Livia, yeah…I think that got me thinking about you. You’re a cutie pie, y’know.”

I smiled at that. No one thinks their kid is ugly.     

“And the whole me being your son thing?” I’m not that snarky most of the time. But turn-about is fair play.

Mom gave me a deep throated laugh, rolling her eyes.

“It’s a little family fun, babe,”she said. “I like kink too; role-play, some other stuff. Even though it’s not really role-play between us is it, hun?” She said it seriously. She wanted me to know that she was on board. I was always grateful for that admission.

“Why did you decide to do this tonight?” I was curious, seriously.

Mom sat up and leaned over me. She shrugged and smiled again. I remember how it made her breasts jiggle. She saw me looking and gave them a little shimmy. We both laughed at that. “I don’t know hun,” she thought for a moment, “I guess the fright of what happened. I mean, bears right? My bloods pumping,” she looked down at my hard-on, “so yours.” She gave me another kiss and told me to open my mouth. She filled it with her tongue, I tasted smoke and sweet. “I thought about it after I saw your sketchbook. I thought about it at night sometimes. I have my own desires too, hun. I want to do this with you. I want you, too. I think we can do this together we just have to be honest with each other. It’ll be like friends with benefits.” She kissed me again, deeper, and longer. When she broke the kiss we looked at each other in silence for a while.

She lied down beside me again and put her mouth against my ear.

“Do you want to be kinky tonight? We have all night, sweetie.” When she whispered that, I thought I would faint dead away. I knew Mom was no prude; she was too frank to be one, to open to be one. Until then I don’t think I had ever really seen her as being a person with her own sexual agency. The idea that she could be someone who enjoys sex and isn’t afraid to make sure that she enjoys the sex that she has never even occurred to me.

“Yeah, I want to be kinky with you,” it sounds corny, I know, but I was dead serious. We both were.

“D’you wanna call me Mommy, baby?”

“Yeah, I want you Mommy.”

“D’you wanna fuck Mommy, baby?”

“So much, wanna fuck you so much,” I said.

We started kissing deeply, really mauling our faces. She bit my lip gently and started to nip at my neck. I was gasping; she was grinding her thigh hard into my erection. My arms were around her grabbing her back, her butt, her hair. I was breathing raggedly. Every time she let me up for air I drew it in a gasp. That’s when she noticed my breathing. Mom started to slow down. She took my hands from her body gently and pinned them just as softly to either side of my head. For a terrible minute I thought she was having second thoughts. In fact, I thought, and I really thought this, this is the part where the dream ends. It didn’t though. Mom looked over her shoulder and I noticed that she was grinding her thigh against my dick very lightly. She raised her leg and I could feel her move it over the tip of my penis. I could feel the wet trail of my own pre-cum.

She looked down at me. “Hun,” I could see that she wanted to put whatever she was about to say delicately, “Are you a virgin?”

I stammered at first. I thought that telling her the truth would be the one thing that made her change her whole mind about the thing. I couldn’t lie to her, though. Not for any noble reason, I just couldn’t lie to her.

“Yeah, is that okay? Do you want to stop?”

Mom furrowed her brow, “No, no, not that! It’s just…y’know, I didn’t know if you wanted me to be your first. I don’t want you to have any regrets. It’s not like I think virginity is some precious commodity, but…well, some people think it is.” She shrugged again. I put a tentative hand on her breast for the first time in my life. Even the feel of it swaddled in cotton was incredible, it was heavy and soft. I spread out my fingers and I watched the flesh of her ooze slightly between them while the nipple popped out like a turkey thermometer. She put her hand over mine and pressed it into her tit.

“I take it you’re okay with Mommy taking your virginity?” I found out her coyness was maybe the sexiest thing about her.

“Yes, please, I’m more than okay with it.”

“Good,” she said, “I was curious anyway about how far you’ve gone. How far have you gotten, anyway? Do guys still say bases and that stuff?”

I laughed, “Some do, yeah. ”

“How ‘bout you then, hun? I know first and second for sure, have you been given oral? Have you given head? I think you know how to from what I saw in your doodle book.”

“I’ve given oral and gotten it, sort of.”

“Sort of,” she laughed, “what’s that?”

I rolled my eyes and felt myself blush. How stupid is that? I knew the whole situation was surreal but I still was self-conscious about my sexual proficiency.

“C’mon, tell me,” she said.

“Alright, alright, she just kissed the tip, sucked it a little and then jerked me off into her mouth.” I had my eyes closed when I said it. I could hear Mom laughing. I laughed too. She wasn’t laughing at me, she was laughing in part at the situation and at the propensity of sex to be comical.

“That’s not a blow job sweetie.” She kissed me again, tenderly this time. She took my hands and pulled me into a seated position with her on her knees in front of me.

“Undress me,” she said. I had to pull her shirt out before I pulled it up so I wouldn’t smother her with her own breasts. They spilled out of her top and bounced against her chest before swinging to a pendulous stop. Mom pulled my head to them. I started kissing, licking, and sucking every bit of them. She lifted one, traced her hard nipple around my lips until pulling my mouth over it. “Suck it, baby, you can suck it hard, go ahead,” she said. I heard her moan; she pulled my head even harder against her chest. She moaned even louder. “Bite it a little, I’ll say when,” so I did. I heard her breathe in sharply.

“Take the rest off me.” She was breathing as hard as I had been. She rolled on her back while I hooked my fingers in the waistband of her boy shorts peeling herself out of them. When her legs parted I could see she was wet. I was down to base instinct at that point. I started to climb on top of her when she stopped me.

“Wait hun,” she had her hand on my chest. My first thought was that I had crossed a line followed by “how is that possible at this point?” Mom motioned for me to lie down. I did. She put another pillow underneath my head, “Comfy?” I said yes.

“Okay hun,” she straddled me, “we’re gonna do this first.”

I told her that I wouldn’t last long. She smiled at that, leaning down to kiss the blush on my cheeks.

“I know hun, it’s not your fault. The first time’s more about setting up for the next time. It’ll be slower next time, better. We’ll take care of this now so later tonight we can take our time, okay?” Mom had put both of her hands on the sides of my face and held my head while she said that. The look on her face was unforgettable, not because the moment had arrived for me but because we were crossing this threshold together. I nodded my agreement.

“Good,” she said, “do you want the lights on or off?”

“On….if that’s okay with you?” It hit me that this moment would be much weirder for her. I knew that she wanted to do this. I didn’t have any doubt about that but the knowledge that she was about to initiate me sexually made me wonder how she felt about it. I put my hands on her thighs feeling her shaking slightly. She smiled at the touch, reassuringly.

“Yeah hun, that’s fine with me. I want you to see me. I want to see you to. Just wanted to be sure that you’d have no regrets…you know, about this? This is a big deal, you know.” Later when we talked about our first time she told me that she wasn’t only worried that I’d have second thoughts. She was worried that her enthusiasm, her enjoyment, her delight in the kink itself would make me think differently of her. It never did. As I said, she isn’t a prude.

“I’m fine with this, all of this,” I said. “I love you. I love this moment. I want us to have this.”

Mom kissed me deeply and raised her lower body up by one leg. I’ll never forget that she put one had on me solar plexus very lightly while the other reached around behind her to find my dick. She caressed the tip a couple of times while she looked at me.

“Look down,”she said.

I saw the tip of my cock push apart the lips of her vagina and watched it disappear into her slick pink. The heat, the wetness of her, it’s too, too much to describe. I felt like I was melting into her. Her breathing changed. It became deeper, slower she brought her raised leg down slowly as she sank onto me. It felt like she was pouring herself onto me as I was being swallowed into her and this place where our bodies met made this incredible throbbing. My first instinct was to grab her waist, force her down, and thrust up into her. I reached to do just that. Mom grabbed my hands and put them on her tits, shaking her head.

“You let me do this, baby, okay? I want you to get me warmed up first, alright?” She covered my hands with hers and squeezed a couple of times to cue me to squeeze her breasts. Mom began to churn her hips on me, I could feel her muscles clutch me, could feel myself moving inside of her. She was moving slowly but it really didn’t feel like it. I was moaning loudly. She had begun releasing these “ooohs” and “aaahs” that this text falls miserably short of describing. I couldn’t help but get into her rhythm.

“Ooooh, that’s good baby,” she said. We started to move faster, well I did actually she had to stop me a couple of times, “it’s not a race hun.” She had taken her hands off mine and put them on the head board to brace her as she moved faster. She wasn’t churning anymore but sliding up and down me, taking me all the way in, there was this awesome meaty suction in the action. It almost felt like she had another mouth down there. Mom looked down at me at me, her mouth was open, her brows were knit, and she had started to grunt a little from the exertion. Her tits had started to undulate, bouncing and swinging, they were all over one another. I knew I was getting close. And that’s when I realized something…

“Mom,” I was gasping trying to hold still long enough to clear my mind and get control of myself, “I’m not wearing anything. I don’t have a condom on.”

Mom didn’t say anything at first. She was looking down at me and gave me this wry grin from the corner of her mouth. I’d never seen that look on her face before. She didn’t stop but kept up this steady pace. She was still breathing heavily.

“Do you really want to stop, hun?” She told me later that she wasn’t playing with me. Not only was she giving me the choice; she wanted me to make the choice. She slowed to a stop gradually and put one hand on my cheek. She wasn’t totally lowered; pinning me to the bed. I could still move, still thrust, if I wanted to. The expression on her face told me that she wouldn’t get up or move until I acted first. I remember that somehow, being beneath her while she was still, being held in her was (in its own way) just as stimulating as moving into and out of her had been.

The control I had mustered hadn’t just fallen away, I threw it aside. The only thing I wanted right then was to have all of her totally. She told me later that it was what she had wanted too.

I took her. I grabbed her by the waist flipping us over. When I got her on her back I felt her entwine one of her legs with mine and wrap the other around me so that when I drew out of her I could feel her heel press into my butt. I felt her hands dig into my back. I ploughed in her. Over and over again, thinking about that first time is a little scary for me honestly. In those moments, I didn’t give a shit about anything. Anyway, it didn’t take long for me to arrive.

Mom put one hand on the back of my neck. I didn’t need much encouragement at that point but her doing that sent me over the edge. The last heave I made pushed us both against the head board. I felt her legs pull up behind me. She held me close to her I could hear her breathing loudly next to my ear before she made a surprised little sound that told me she felt me coming inside of her.

It’s funny how the world resets itself right after you dump what feels like a quart of semen into your mom. I wasn’t horrified by the act. I was very worried by the potential results of the act. I was also afraid that I was crushing her. I tried to get up but she still held on to me. She started to run her fingers through my hair and kissed my neck.

“Let it get soft in me first, hun,” she said, “let’s cuddle awhile.” The towel that I had been wearing was still nearby and when she motioned for me to get up she slid it under her saying that she should’ve taken the comforter off of the bed. She used her shirt to clean me off. When she did I got hard again.

When I layed down beside her she turned to lay on me partially; her thigh came up and I could feel the wetness from both of us there. She knew what I was worried about and let me know, with a laugh, that she was on the pill. There was pillow talk. We talked about what happened mostly. There was some serious discussion too, revisiting some points we had already made; that kind of thing. And more sex.

We’re not a couple. I wouldn’t say that we’re lovers either. It’s really more like a “friends with benefits” situation. That’s the closest way to describe it. Well, I guess that’s it. Sorry for the length of it but I hope you enjoyed it. For my part it’s good to finally be able to tell this.

–

THE END

The story continues. Check out Part 1 if you missed it, and then continue on ahead.

Enjoy!

—

So, the conversation…

I think I informed you about the kind of skill set my mom’s career requires. I don’t think I’ll have to speak that much more on it but what she does requires some informed knowledge of human anatomy and psychology in tandem with her interpersonal skills. So, at least as I experienced it, she approached the whole incident with a clinical efficiency but not with the kind of detached scientific analysis you’d expect from, say, your physician. Like I said, she’s a loving, warm, person. She has a way of drawing you in. And, as I said, she won’t blink at having a raw conversation even though she’s very tactful.

Anyway, mom came home. It had been a long, weird day, and she wanted to eat in the living room. That house had a sunken living room, it was one of the reasons mom had wanted it, and it had a way of making you feel that that room alone was somehow isolated from the rest of the house. So when she told me to set the largish coffee table we had in front of the sofa I knew that she had put a lot more thought into how she was going to handle what had happened than just trapping me into a dinner of Chinese takeout before I could disappear for the rest of the day.

She had brought home a lot of food and kept plying me with more and more; I knew the move was calculated but I also knew that she wouldn’t broach the subject while I ate so I let it be. I can’t say I felt trapped, but I was horribly uncomfortable. The meal had ended, I wasn’t full but I wouldn’t eat anymore. I have a nervous stomach when I’m anxious and when I get anxious I have some pretty severe reactions -that will be relevant later. We were both on the couch, sitting at a natural distance from each other, maybe six feet. She had a bunch of pillows propped against her back so she could lean against the armrest and face me. For a time we were both quiet, digesting, when she stretched her legs out on the couch and crossed them I knew she was about to start.

Obviously, I’m dragging this up from memory but I’m pretty sure this dialogue captures the spirit of the conversation.

Mom started right in:

“D’you wanna go first hun?”

Mom’s a smart woman. She’s able to spar verbally with virtually anyone and she normally appreciates appropriate sarcasm. I knew from the tone and the look on her face; the arched eyebrows and direct gaze, that she would only want straight answers from me. She wasn’t angry or anything.  At the time I realized the best way to get through this was to resign myself to having it; you know, just bite the bullet.

“Do we really need to talk about…you know?” Even though I was resigned to this conversation that doesn’t mean that I was willing to have it.

Mom only smiled. “Yeah hun, I think we need to.” She paused for a minute and then she ploughed straight ahead with that same smile. “Listen hun, you saw me naked and besides wanting you to be okay I need to know that you’re handling what happened in a healthy way.”

She tilted her head to me and leaned forward a little bit. Whenever we were having a serious talk she did that same move. I think it was done to make sure that I knew that my participation was being invited even though it was mandatory.

I didn’t really know what to say. I couldn’t lie about how I felt about seeing her that way; it had been thrilling. But I was ashamed and afraid, and she could sense that.

“M’okay,” I said. “I think I am, anyway.”

She nodded, giving me a searching look, wanting me to say more. She realized that I wouldn’t and smiled again. That smile, you’d need to see it to really appreciate it; you feel like you’re being lifted by it. It was hard to keep eye contact with her, seeing her naked, how I felt about it, how my body had reacted to it, and her insistence on talking about the whole thing.

She got up and moved closer to me. Whenever she spoke to me she touched me; an arm around the shoulder, a comforting hand on the back, that kind of thing. I felt her hand tip my head up from the chin. Eye contact is one of her biggest pet peeves. I remember that she looked into my eyes and face for a moment before going on.

“Don’t drop your eyes hun,” what I distinctly remember from this point is that she put her hand on my forearm. I know she meant it as a comforting gesture but I felt like I was being trapped a little. She might have sensed it but she didn’t remove her hand, instead she started to rub my forearm a little.

“You know that things like this happen when two people live together, right? It’s startling and I know it made you uncomfortable.”

“It was an accident,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say. I think I was talking more to myself at that point. I was only somewhat paying attention to what she was saying- mostly I was only aware of her hand on my arm and her proximity.

She smiled again, in an understanding way, moved even closer and held my hand.

“I know hun, I know, I thought you went outside and when I saw the look on your face, well….,” Mom dropped her eyes at this point and I knew then, right then, that she was looking for a place to begin on something bigger. Understand, I was very uncomfortable and the only reason I wasn’t climbing the walls was because I thought we were about through. I thought she had moved closer to give me a hug, that’s the way she normally ended long talks. So instead of being about finished, I realized that we were really just getting started.

“I want you to know that I’m not angry with you, I’m not uncomfortable with you, and that I’ll always love you, no matter what,” I remember her saying this and envisioning a fuse being lit. “I’m a woman and you’re a man, we’ve talked about sex before and,” my eyes dropped away again and she reached up again to bring my focus to bear on her again, “hey, hey, don’t do that, it’s all okay, I want you to look at me though when we talk about this.” Now most of this conversation I remember the gist of, but the next words she spoke I remember exactly.

“I know the way you looked at me when you saw me today. I did notice that you got an erection while you looked.” And the lit fuse exploded the bomb. I tried to pull away as gently as I could. She kept holding on to me. The look on her face was very intense. She was concerned, she wanted me to be okay, and she wanted to know what I was thinking about the whole thing.

“As I said, we’ve talked about sex before. So I know that you know that kind of reaction is perfectly natural. So is your…curiosity, about what a woman looks like. I’m not upset by it, if anything I want to make sure that you understand how your body reacted had nothing to do with you. The feelings, the thoughts you might have had, those are natural too. It just happened okay? Do you understand that?”

I said I did. I wanted out of that conversation so badly. I tried to get up. She wouldn’t have it. She held on to my hand and pulled me back on to the couch next to her.

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I think so,” of course I wouldn’t give her any other answer. I really couldn’t give her another answer anyway.  My mind wasn’t working right. And the thought of telling her about the thoughts that I had had that were supposed to be entirely natural were decidedly a non-option besides being antithetical to my main purpose of getting the hell out of there.

“Good,” she said. She had me by the arm and was pulling herself closer to hug me. That’s when it happened.

I mentioned before that when I get anxious I have something of an extreme reaction. It’s nothing debilitating. It never required any special circumstances to be made for me. In fact, it was so sporadic I could count the times that it happened on one hand. I don’t do well in crowds and in certain other situations, namely, when emotions or tensions are very intense or running high. I shake. Mostly in the upper body, it’s pretty noticeable and it rarely happens but sometimes it does. I get it from my grandfather. There’s a slight tick in my fight or flight response. I don’t take any medication for it anymore and when I did, it was only in response to the symptoms. Mostly, I was able to control it by using some breathing exercises. Mom taught them to me. I think what set it off, obviously, was the conversation we just had but when she pulled me close to her I felt the swell of each breast against my arm and I smelled the rose oil she always wore. It was the trigger. I started to shake and I was mortified, even more than when we were having the conversation. Mom felt it.

“Okay, okay, relax,” she had me lean forward and started to rub my back. It didn’t help. “You want your pills, sweetie? Where are they?”

I wanted her to go. I wanted to be left alone. But more than those things, I wanted to get myself under control. I was embarrassed, mortified, and uncomfortable. I felt weak.

“What do you want me to do, hun?” She felt guilty I could hear it in her voice.

My voice was shaking too. “G-g-give me a minute.” I waved her hands off as gently as I could. She moved away from me but she was still close. Her arms were crossed under her breasts and the look she had on her face…a mix of worry and guilt. I still feel bad about that.

I gripped the sides of the cushion I was sitting on and started to breathe deeply. Doing the same exercises I spoke of earlier. Eventually the shakes passed. I was exhausted. I fell back into the couch. Mom sat beside me, putting a tentative hand on my head.

“Baby, I am so sorry,” Mom’s never been a crier but she looked like she was about to. “I should’ve…, I don’t know…was I crowding you? I was wasn’t I? Hun, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have been so direct.”

“S’okay,” it was about all I could get out. I’ve never felt that drained before or since.

Mom pulled me into a hug on the couch. “You sure you’re okay? Are you angry with me?”

One of her arms was around my neck, the other was over my chest, grabbing me by the shirt to pull me closer; smothering me with the best of intentions.

“M’okay,” I said, “I’m not angry. Just a little tired…and crushed.”

She laughed at that and loosened her grip. “Sure you’re not angry?”

 “Yeah, I’m sure.” I could never be angry with her for long, and certainly not for this. Mom was still hugging me, kneeling up on the couch. She kissed the top of my head and let me go. We cleared the table, put the leftovers in the fridge, and then I said goodnight. That night I slept deep. I remember because I’m usually a restless sleeper, that night, I went down like I’d been dropped by a velvet sledgehammer.

The next morning was a little weird but soon enough we hit our normal stride. We stayed on in that house for two more weeks and then moved.

By this time I knew without a doubt that I was attracted to her. I wasn’t obsessed about it though. For me, she was a very attractive woman and the fact that she was my mother…well, that’s how my specific kink developed. I don’t know if it was the fact that those feelings were taboo, it may have been; it certainly added a lot to my fantasies of her but honestly I think it was mainly being the person that she was. I did everything I could to keep my interests hidden from her of course. In the end, she made the first move; but I’m getting ahead of myself.

We were living in a nice suburb, spacious ranch homes, picket fences you get the picture, the kind of place where 50’s domestic idealism hadn’t quite rolled away yet. Anyway, as I said, life was pretty much normal. I had a car, I had my coursework, I had a job, I had my share of housework to do, and sometimes I had a girlfriend; the key word being sometimes. We were both pretty busy but we still ate at the same table whenever we could.

We lived there for a while. Like I said, mom always had a large circle of friends. She made friends with great ease. Virtually all of them were women her age or a little older. Some of them were pretty attractive. One of her friends, we’ll call her Livia, was very attractive. She was built like Mom, only in smaller much more petite portions. I think she looked a little like Jessica Lange. She was older than Mom by about 10 years. Anyway, I could usually count on them being over on the weekend. They’d all go out for drinks, they’d come back sometimes to our house, they’d play poker or talk. Mom would have barbeques sometimes and the hens would bring their husbands. Usually, I’d always help mom set up and get out while I could. Some of her friends were cool but all of their husbands were douchebags.

One Saturday, I was helping her get ready to receive her friends. I always ran the barbecue for her when she had people over. Normally her friends, the wives, stayed inside with Mom for a while, setting up the food they had brought, turning the kitchen area into a buffet while the husbands came outside to talk to each other or to me, mostly to give me completely unsolicited barbeque advice. Mom came outside to bar tend at the small minibar on the patio which brought almost everyone out of the house. She knew I really didn’t like these people and was normally pretty cool with me leaving after the meat was done.

I brought the last tray of meat inside and went up to my bedroom to change clothes. As I was coming downstairs I heard people arguing on the front door step. I knew it was Livia and her husband, we’ll call him Foster. I think everyone knows a couple who shouldn’t be together at all. Mom admitted to me that she couldn’t stand Foster and that she only liked Livia some of the time but excluding them from an invitation wasn’t possible. She worked with Livia- technically Livia was a little higher in the pecking order. She lived in the same neighborhood as Livia (two blocks away). The conjunction of office and social politics always made sure Livia and Foster got an invite.

I didn’t open the door on them in mid-argument. I didn’t eavesdrop either. I didn’t have to eavesdrop; they were that loud. They were pretty notorious for causing scenes at parties, picnics, any social engagement. Their arguments were really torrid, real Desperate Housewives meets the Sopranos kind of shit. Some people actually had them over for that reason; to add a little drama to their dinner parties. They both stepped out on each other. I was never around for those arguments but the stories of them made the rounds.

Most of what they were saying was indistinct but Foster’s last words were pretty clear: “I won’t be gone long enough for you to suck anyone off but I’m sure you’ll try anyway.”  She said something like, “Fuck you,” I couldn’t tell. I started to back away from the door thinking that there was no way she’d want to come in right at that moment but the doorbell rang. I felt sorry for her so I went ahead and opened the door.

If she had been crying or was upset, you couldn’t tell, big, warm smile, dry eyes. She was wearing this gauzy, low-cut sundress and strappy, high-heeled sandals. I guess she was wearing it to intentionally piss her husband off. Anyway, I helped her bring her food inside. She was all smiles, like I said. We had this long kitchen counter that all the wives had set up their dishes of food on to create this buffet. I was holding Livia’s crock-pot while she cleared a space for it. We were on opposite sides of the counter no one knew we were inside. I was taller than she was and she had on this amazing, low cut dress. So yeah, as she was moving stuff around I was looking down her top. She wasn’t as ample as Mom, but that’s a tall order for a lot of women. Still, she was very attractive with nice C-cups and tan lines. I remember the tan lines the best because there was such a contrast between this deep golden caramel color of her tan and the pinkish cream color of her flesh. Yeah, I was really looking. That’s how I got caught.

I didn’t notice that she had been standing still for a while. When I did look up she had on this very sly, very subtle smile. She didn’t say anything at first but patted the place she cleared on the counter for me to put down her crock-pot. I did and when I looked up her smile had turned to a smirk. I had no idea what to expect. When she took out her phone and started to text the only thing that I could think of was that she was telling her husband what had happened. So at that point I started to edge away from the counter toward the hallway to leave. Livia held up one finger while she was looking at her phone, I stopped moving away. I was in shock at the moment. I was afraid of getting my ass kicked by a pissed off husband but I was more afraid of being at the center of a huge, embarrassing scene. Her phone chimed once, she read the text and slid it into her purse and pulled it over her shoulder. She saw the look on my face and laughed.

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna bust you,” she said. Livia looked outside and saw Mom pouring drinks at the center of a large crowd around the minibar. No one was looking or coming toward the house.

“You have an upstairs bathroom, don’t you?” I could only shake my head yes. I was so relieved. She asked if I could show her to it and I just nodded again like an idiot. I guess an 11^th hour reprieve would have that effect on anyone.

On the way upstairs I said, “Sorry about before,” and I muttered something about how I was being rude. Livia laughed again, I remember that there was this chord in the sound of her laughter that was like electricity; it gave me goose bumps. She put her hand on my upper arm and said, “Sorry, huh?” It wasn’t sarcasm, only honest amusement. I repeated that I was, and for my part, I was about 60% sincere about it. Livia didn’t say anything but smiled widely at me.

When we got to the bathroom I turned around and was about to leave but she reached out and held my hand and pulled me around to face her.

“How old are you?” she asked.

I told her.

“Good,” she said. Livia pushed the door open with her butt and drew me in with the hand she was holding. “Close the door, cutie.” I was on autopilot. I had no idea where this was going. I think the only reason I wasn’t shaking like mad was because I was mostly over that condition and that Livia exuded this sense of control. I only had to let her take charge to relax into the situation which is what I did without even really being aware of it. She was going to use me and I was blissfully oblivious to the fact.

Livia put her purse on the counter and took out her phone. She turned to me, and how she did this still amazes me, pulled off the straps of her sundress and in one fluid movement stepped out of it and kicked it to the side. She was completely bare. She was older than Mom but she was still really put together well. Her breasts sagged a little but they only looked like ripe hanging fruit to me. Her belly was flat, not puffy like Mom’s. She had nice, toned thighs and her tan lines looked incredible.

She put her hand on my chest and tapped it to get my attention.

“Listen __________ (my name), I won’t fuck you or suck you because you’re _________ (my mom’s name) son. But we can have some fun, here,” with that she turned around with her back to my chest. She pulled her hair to one side of her neck and then reached up and behind her to pull my lips to her neck. She told me to suck and I did. With my face planted on her neck her free hands took mine.

She asked me if I was right handed, I said yes thinking that it was a weird question until she pulled my hand down around her front. My left hand she placed across her breasts. I started to fondle her. I didn’t have a girlfriend at the time but I wasn’t completely ignorant. I was cupping her right breast tweaking her nipple with my thumb and forefinger. She told me that she wasn’t going to break so I went harder. Livia exhaled loudly and started to moan gently. She was grinding her buttocks into my hard-on, moving them side to side, up and down, gyrating in alternating circles at different speed. My hand had slipped between her legs to the slick cleft of her vagina and I started to trace up from more or less the middle of it to the top to find her clitoris.  The feeling of her pubic hair scratching against my palm was incredible. I was by no means skilled or knowledgeable at the time but she sensed my intent. She said “here sweetie,” and put her hand over mine, placing her fingers over mine to show me how she liked it. She groaned and left my hand to work saying “rub harder.”    

At some point she groaned for me to hold her tighter. I felt ourselves start to tip back. Livia had put one high heeled foot on the edge of the counter and was tipping us back intentionally. “Slip your fingers into me.” I had to tilt back from the waist and use my other arm to hold her up to do it by holding her up from the left buttock. As I said she was petite. Anyway, I was lost in her, in the moment; the only thing that brought me out of it was the sound of a clicking shutter. At some point she had gotten her phone and reached between her legs to take I don’t know how many pictures or how many minutes of video of her pussy being worked over by my hand. I set her down and our eyes met in the mirror. I can’t say that I was shocked. I know I wasn’t mad, I think I expected this kind of ending.

Livia put her phone back in her purse and leaned back into me looking at my face in the mirror. She reached back to take my hands and started to grind into my hard-on with her butt again.

“I’m going to send that to him during his lunch break on Monday. Don’t worry he won’t know who it is. There’s like 15 other suspects here today. He wouldn’t think that I’d do this with you.” She laughed reached up and patted my cheek.

I only nodded like that was a good thing. It was of course, but standing there with what felt like most of my blood and nearly all of my waking consciousness in one part of my body my only desire was to fuck her or get off or both. Livia knew exactly what I was thinking. She turned around to me and guided me back to the toilet. “I’m not gonna leave you hanging ________.” She checked her phone quickly.

I remember she gave me an appraising look and ran her hand over the hard lump in my pants. “I think we have just enough time,” she said. Her whole manner changed. Before she had been flirtatious and sensual now she was more business-like but even more sensual; it was odd. “Take off your pants,” she said. Livia was standing right in front of me and reached down to take my chin in her hand. Her grip was firm, just a touch before painful, she looked right into my eyes and said: “Remember what I told you before. I won’t fuck you or suck you, okay? So don’t try to put it in me. Don’t beg either, I fucking hate that. But I will take care of you.” She wasn’t mean about, just forward.

I had to have looked completely ridiculous; shirt on, pants down around my ankles, sitting on the crapper with my wiener waiting for lift off.

Livia had me shift forward and lean back so that she could straddle my thighs without being over my groin. She reached down and filled her hand with my cock and started to rub it all over her slit.

“Sit right there ______,” she said, “I know what you want to do but you won’t do it, will you?”

I didn’t answer right away. I don’t think I could’ve answered at all. She was still wet; the feeling of that labial slickness, how it left a trail of wet warmth wherever it touched me….there was no way that I could have even begun to answer any question. However, since I didn’t answer, she stopped rubbing me against her.

Her head was right beside mine and she whispered into my ear, “You won’t do what you want to do, right?”

I shook my head no and kind of gasped “no” even though I wanted to do that thing to her; which was to fuck her, to grab her, force her down on my cock and thrust into her until I blew inside of her.
“What do you want to do?” she whispered into my ear again. Her breath was hot on my ear and my neck and she had started to bite and suck on my neck. “Tell me, what do you want to do to me?” Of course, it’s obvious to you at this point that she was playing with me; control and denial of pleasure, that kind of thing. I was only answering questions. I would have told her anything; anything at all to make sure she didn’t let up with that delicious friction she was making so I told her what she wanted to hear.

I was gasping for breath, so I breathed out “I wanna fuck you, fuck you hard…” Yeah, not exactly genius and not at all erotic but it was an honest sentiment. In response Livia moved in closer and placed herself so that she was holding the length of me right against her slit. She had to hold on to my shoulder with one hand and had to have me hold on to her with my hands on her sides. Livia curved her hips forward and upward so that the length of my erection was right against her slit. She began to move up and down against me while her hand worked the tip of my penis, bringing her fingers and thumb across the tip. Every time she did that I got a jolt that nearly unseated both of us from the pot. Livia knew she was on the clock though and kept at it; faster and faster until the inevitable happened.

I thrust up hard and lifted her up. Livia said “Jesus,” not from her sudden elevation though; she had struck oil in a big way. I was really embarrassed. She had been cogent enough to realize I was on the verge and had pointed my dick back at me but she didn’t know how copious the result would be.

She held her hand up to me, fingers splayed, it looked like she had been handling a large garden slug; the look on her face was delighted revulsion. “That’s a lot,” she said, “seriously, that’s a lot.” I didn’t know if it was a compliment or not so I apologized. I didn’t know what else to say. She shrugged; going right to the sink to clean up. When I got up I realized that my shirt had caught most of it. Livia was practically done cleaning up. You couldn’t even tell what she had been doing literally seconds ago. Her face wasn’t flushed. Her sun-dress was immaculate. Even her attitude betrayed nothing; as dryly personable as she had been on the doorstep.

I was still in the process of collecting myself when she was about to leave.

“Hey,” she said. “Remember…” and she put her finger on her lips.

I nodded. Who was I going to tell?

“Remember to change your shirt too,” and with that and a smile she was gone.

I got myself to my bedroom and cleaned up quickly. I was a little panicked. I didn’t think she’d tell Foster who the hand had belonged to but being with them both in the house with Mom and all of her friends was decidedly not to my liking. In my hurry, I left the tell-tale shirt on the floor.

I was almost to the front door when Mom spotted me from the kitchen.

“I thought you left.”

“Nope, not yet,” I was edging toward the door.

“Did you let Livia in?”

“Yeah, I’ve gotta go now okay?”

“Alright, alright, hold on,” she gave me a hug. “Be careful,” she said. “I’ll save you a plate.” I felt her looking at me even as I was leaving. You’ve probably guessed that she had her suspicions…

—

TO BE CONTINUED

Time for another tale submitted by one of you, yes YOU, the fine readers of this here blog. I don’t really have a name for it, so if the author wants to suggest something he can feel free.

This is just the first part. The whole story covers a lot of ground between this gentleman and his mom. This is just the appetizer, explaining the situation, whetting your appetite for more.

Enjoy!

–

I apologize for the length of this. But I do think some exposition adds to the telling.

My parents were very young when I was born. Mom was 20, Dad was 21. They were in college. They were young. They had one night together and she got pregnant. They were going to a college on the east coast, in a small college town. The transition from dorm life to moving back home for my mother really wasn’t a big deal since her parents lived about 10 minutes from campus. My father’s family lived in the Midwest. Their split wasn’t a big deal. It was a one night thing. They weren’t in love. There was no rancorous break up. No screaming parents. Only an acknowledgement that these things happen and that forward is the only direction one can really go. So for a time we lived with her parents, she graduated, got a job, and we moved on.

Anyway, my attraction to my mother wasn’t instant. It evolved.

You’ll want to know what she looks like:

5’10”, maybe 175lbs (some things you don’t ask), hair that falls to about the middle of her back, dark grey eyes-not black, but definitely grey. We come from Italian and Cuban stock for the most part, so her skin is somewhat olive in complexion. Her maternal grand-father was Irish which is where she gets her height. Her hair is the same color as dark chocolate. As for her build, I’m finding it a bit of a struggle to describe it. Voluptuous, certainly; wide hips, full thighs and a waist that pulls in some of her girth and, well, a very prodigious bust. 46 DDD; she has to specially order her bras. All of the women on her mother’s side who have had children are similarly proportioned. She’s a curvy, built woman. Not fat-but plump in a healthy way; though her height gives her something of an Amazonian aspect her body is…lush. That’s the best way to say it. There isn’t a part of her that isn’t soft and warm. The flesh of her always seems to fill my hand before I’m even really touching her. That’s what it seems like, anyway.

I always knew she was pretty. To me, even before I knew I was attracted to her, her beauty was just a matter of objective fact. Grandma was in the habit of comparing family members to movie stars; one sister looked like Monica Belluci, this nephew looked like Michael Imperioli, this second cousin looked like Dean Martin, you get the picture. I remember her saying that mom looked like Sophia Lauren which, I can kind of see. The cheekbones are right, but the lips are a little fuller, the nose is different, the tilt of the eyes is sort of the same and her face is generally rounder. I hope that serves as a good description.

The first hint I had of my own attraction to her happened pretty innocently. It was a completely innocuous moment. My mom’s a very gregarious, social person. I’m not. I’m an introvert, shy, not very talkative. Her career requires an abundance of social graces. At the time she had a job that required her attendance at several formal functions a month. Not ritzy affairs but events requiring something a little more than just professional attire.

By then we were living on the west coast, she called me up to her room. I remember she was wearing a dark red dress with straps. I don’t remember it enough to describe it in real detail but everything else is clear. She was hunting for a shoe under the bed.

“Hun, can you reach underneath the bed and find this shoe,” I remember she held up something black with a long heel.

I reached under the bed and dug around for a while until I found her shoe’s twin. She pulled on one shoe quickly and tried to pull the other one on right after, except it didn’t happen. I was still kneeling by the bed while she was hopping on one foot trying to get the other heel on. I was about to stand up when she put her hand on my shoulder.

“Just a minute, hun,”she was using me for balance. I had no idea what the hold-up was. She wasn’t looking at me her head was turned to the side, concentrating on getting her shoe on. She was wobbling a bit, trying to jerk her foot into this shoe; the first thing I was aware of was a smell. She had on rose oil. She always wore it, still does, but I hadn’t smelled it this potently and it was also mixed with her smell. My head turned naturally to the source of the smell and I saw that the top of her dress was hanging down; well, it was being forced down by her hanging breasts.

She was wearing a strapless bra. I remember seeing the black cups of it holding her breasts up. I remember the slightly frilled edge of the bra. Mostly, I remember the pendulous motion of her large breasts. Back and forth, back and forth, each sway just filling my nose with the way she smelled. I almost passed out. The idea that she could be this sexy and that I knew her was really powerful; it nearly floored me. Obviously, I’m able to describe this moment from the vantage point of hindsight. At the time, the whole experience was too powerful to process. If anything I remembered how “not-Mom” she looked while at the same time being Mom.

Anyway, I don’t remember if she lost her balance because the shoe was winning the battle or because I swooned but she slid forward while pulling me in by the shoulder to hold her balance. Her breasts crushed into my face and I remember never feeling anything so soft before. It was over quick. She laughed and said “Sorry, hun.” The foot found the shoe. In all, probably less than 3 minutes for the whole episode.

I was wobbly getting up. She thought it was because she put too much weight on me.

“You okay, sweetie?” From there on the details are blurry. She hugged me. I made sure to keep my waist as far away from any point of contact from her as possible. She left and I went to bed wondering what to make of what had happened.

So, as I was saying, that was the first hint of my attraction to her. And like I said, I didn’t know how to process the whole event. I was pretty thrown by the whole thing.

So, time moves forward, there were other incidents of the same sort but they didn’t hold the same power. It was never an obsession, if anything, I took it in stride. Really, at the time self-introspection wasn’t a priority. I approached the whole matter as if it were just some weird anomaly; nothing to really ponder.

Sometime later we were getting ready to sell the house we were living in and move again. We moved a lot. We were living in an older neighborhood. It was a nice place. Lots of brownstones, small tidy strips for front lawns, you get the picture. We’d been painting, varnishing the trim, sanding the scratches out of the floors, that kind of thing when her phone rang.

I mentioned that my mom is a very social person. She’s always had a large circle of friends. Everybody wants to know her. Anyway, a friend of hers needed some help picking up a small piece of furniture; an ottoman or something. We lived in the city and having a larger vehicle wasn’t always ideal, but it came in handy from time to time.

Mom told me that she was going to take a shower before leaving and that I could knock off for the day if I wanted. She went straight to the bathroom but since we were nearly finished with the last of our small renovations, I decided to stay the course. I popped my earbuds back in and kept spackling. Now, our house was an old brownstone. The bedrooms didn’t connect to the full bathroom. From the bathroom window you could see our “garage” in the small back yard. We called it the garage; it was more like a toolshed.

Mom sometimes forgot to bring a bath towel into the bathroom with her when she showered. Many times she’d crack open the bathroom door and yell, “Bring me a towel, hun,” with her arm poking out of the narrowest crack of the door. Or, when I was downstairs, sometimes I’d hear the mad dash as she streaked into her bedroom after yelling at me stay downstairs for a minute. The linen closest where we kept all the towels and the like was adjacent to the door of my bedroom which is where we were finishing up the work; painting, spackling, that kind of stuff. Since we were painting in there the door was kept wide open to air the room out as much as possible.

This is what happened: Mom finished with her shower and realizing that she forgot her towel looks out of the bathroom window to see our “garage” with its door wide open.  She had told me that I could quit for the day and assumes that I’m putting the paint cans, the brushes, and all related materials away. Actually, I’m in my bedroom putting on the last touches of paint.

She walks out of the bathroom, completely naked, thinking I’m outside gets a towel out of the linen closet and turns around to go back into her bedroom just as I turn around to take out the paint cans that she thinks have already left the house.

We saw each other at the same time, eye to eye.

Yeah.

It was the first time I saw her naked. I went still; completely incapable of thought or movement. My body was locked. The same happened to her, for a moment I think. The bathroom fan was still on, sucking all of the moisture in the air from the shower. It was loud enough to cover any sound I was making. I had my earbuds in, listening to whatever. Perfect storm, I guess.

She had a towel underneath her arm. Her hair was up. I saw everything. I already described her body to you, but I don’t think you’ll mind more of the same. She was soaking wet making her curves really stand out; shining with reflected light and all. She was plump and lovely. Like I said, you couldn’t call her fat. She looks like a lady who isn’t afraid to eat a cheeseburger, let’s leave it at that.

Her hips flared out before her waist drew them in again. The effect was more dramatic with her skin being as wet as it was. Her pubic mound was covered in black hair. It was matted to her pubis and I distinctly remember how her hair curved downward and into the place where her legs joined. I don’t remember how it was trimmed but knowing her grooming habits now I’m sure it was. Her breasts were heavier and larger than I remembered them being but this time I was seeing them without any covering at all. The best way of description would be comparison in this case. I think Nadine Jansen’s breasts are a close enough description; though not as big and with very different nipples. Mom’s nipples are very large (a bit larger than the size of the tip of your thumb), well defined and very dark with massive areolas about the size of a tea saucer. Since she had come out of the shower they were also erect. They jutted up and out by a good inch and her areola visible constricted and dimpled.

She was surprised. So was I. Her towel was still under her arm and her mouth had formed this small “O”. At the same time, as she was looking at me, my eyes did what my Gramps calls “the old once over.” It was an automatic reaction; my eyes drooped down and up, down and up, basically ogling my mom. I had another automatic reaction. You know the kind. She saw both and I had no idea that she had until we talked about what happened later. But, anyway, she pulled the towel in front of her crushing her breasts against it and disappeared into her room. I stood still for a minute longer and then took the paint cans out to the garage; where I stayed until she left. Incredibly, the whole episode wasn’t even a minute in length. I’d be surprised if it was even a 20 second affair.

Nearly all of the women and some of the men in my family are loquacious. Part of it’s cultural, but I think most of it is the family dynamic. Everything is discussed: everything. They’re not tactless, far from it, but most of the people in my family-especially my mom-aren’t shy about bringing up topics that they feel need to be addressed, no matter how taboo. And they do it with a surprising amount of style and finesse.

Mom had always known that I was painfully shy and was always sensitive to it but some conversations are just awkward. I knew that she’d feel compelled to talk about what happened and that’s why I wanted to get out of the house before she called or came back. I didn’t make it. Mom knew my intentions and called from her friend’s place.

The conversation went something like this:

“Hey ya’, hun, what’re ya wanting for dinner tonight?” She calls me “hun” all the time.

“Oh, I was going out. You can have dinner with your friends if you want.” It didn’t even occur to me to let the phone ring. As much as I wanted to avoid the conversation that was coming, I think I was a little interested in what she might say.

“No, no, c’mon, you and me, and….how about Chinese? I’ll get takeout, we can eat at home.” When she said “takeout” I knew that we’d be talking about what happened. Even if I adamantly didn’t want to have the conversation that I knew was coming I still wouldn’t have ducked out. It wouldn’t have been fair to her.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Really? Good, good, listen hun, why don’t you pick up some pop. Get me diet something, okay? I’ll be home in 3, alright?” She sounded cheerful, a little relieved. I took that as a good sign.

“Yeah, okay.” Yes, I’m normally that talkative. I get teased about it by my family and friends sometimes. They never tease hard though.

“Alright, make sure you’re home, okay?” And just like that, I was locked into a conversation that I was partly dreading.

“I will.”

“Okay, love ya’ hun, bye bye.” If it’s not obvious I’m trying to give you a sense of my mom’s accent. She grew up on the east coast, north of the Mason-Dixon. If you heard her speak, you’d be able to make a good guess about where she was from.

So, I got the pop and waited…

–

TO BE CONTINUED

A few weeks ago we had a letter from a 50 year old mom about her 21 year old daughter. Now we have a letter from a 21 year old daughter about her 50 year old mom. And they’re clearly two different sets of people, so what a nice coincidence.

I’m 21 and I still live with my mom, who is 50. I have a couple vibrators that I keep in a drawer by my bed, and my mom is always looking through my things. Every time I play with my toys, I imagine that my mom has found them and used them to fuck her perfect pussy with them, that she’s secretly a naughty slut like her daughter is. In my perfect fantasy, she walks in while I’m using one. She’s always been very conservative, she can hardly even talk about sex without turning red. I want to show her how good it feels to be a whore, see her face when she has a vibrator pressed against her cunt for the first time, make her cum harder than she’s ever even imagined. I want her to be thinking about her little girl while she fucks my dad. 

A mom shares with us:

I’m 50 and have a 21 year old daughter who lives me now that she finished school. One night, she came home early from work and came upstairs where our rooms are. I was on my bed masturbating with a dildo and didn’t hear her. My door was open. She froze and I froze. I had a huge fantasy of being watched. I can’t believe I did it, but, I continued masturbating and she stayed and watched,

The next day we talked about it. She said she was fine. She also said that she was fascinated with how incredibly hairy my pussy is. She said, she had never seen before. I did tell her that it was a fantasy for me to be watched. She said she would love to watch again. She has been watching me at least once a week for five months now. It is strange to actually cum in front of your own daughter, but the taboo part of it is amazingly hot.

So I’m pretty new to tumblr, so I’m just liking and following right now. Next week ill have my computer fixed and be able to really get into this. I’m into the incest stuff so it will mostly be about that. I will be posting short stories and captions of my own creation and reblogging my favorites of the ppl im following. I’d love any and all feedback, even some critiquing… keep the negativity to yourself, this blog is gonna be for fun and is pretty much pure fantasy. Hope to hear any requests or suggestions from you guys!!!