Chapter 7: "MOM-SON": A LOVE STORY
It was a couple of days after my son's eighteenth birthday when I realized I wanted to have sex with him.
I know...I know...it is completely wrong, sick and twisted...I told myself the same thing at first.
To explain my strange sexual hunger, my son, Paul, is a complete ringer for his father, Darren, who died in a car accident when Paul was only three. He had the same blue eyes, the same blonde hair and the same dazzling smile.
I had known these facts for years, but as he turned from an adolescent to a man it became even more apparent.
That all said, I had never considered sex with him at all until I accidentally walked in on him sitting at his computer as he stroked his cock. I could argue it wasn't him I wanted, but just a cock to pound away the cobwebs of my long neglected pussy. Yet, the reality is, putting the pieces together of his good looks, his exact replica voice and his identical big cock, it was definitely him I wanted...it was like I could relive my late teenage years when I originally started dating Darren...or in a morbid sense relive my marriage to the only person I had ever truly loved.
I apologized profusely for not knocking, and it was obvious that Paul was as embarrassed as I was. Yet, that night I couldn't stop replaying the brief encounter in my mind. At first I was mortified by what I saw...then as I laid in bed trying to fall asleep, my mind began playing tricks on me. Every time I closed my eyes and began to try and reach slumber, my son stroking his completely erect, thick cock popped into my head. I would immediately jolt up and shake my head for thinking such an inappropriate thought...yet as soon as I laid back down and closed my eyes the exact same scene would repeat itself...I was in the incest version of the Groundhog Day movie. Eventually, out of sheer exhaustion, I fell asleep. Obviously, it wasn't a great night's sleep.
The next morning, Paul and I pretended it didn't happen, but, of course, you can't erase the past, and an unacknowledged awkwardness began between us.
Over the next month, even as my morals argued it was completely wrong...my too long ignored libido screamed it was okay. I began pleasuring myself while imagining my vibrator was Paul's cock fucking me. I sucked my dildo imagining it was Paul's cock I was sucking.
Whenever I looked at Paul, I saw Darren.
Whenever I talked to Paul, I heard Darren.
It became unhealthy and obsessive, and it soon began to consume all my thoughts and dreams.
I regressed to my teen years as I began, inadvertently at first, attempting to entice my son, like I had his father all those years ago.
Although I wasn't as thin as my perfect body cheerleading days, I was still in decent shape. Sure I could lose a few pounds, but who couldn't? The beginning of grey was showing up in my black as night hair, but so far I hadn't thought it showed enough to dye it. I had always been slightly chubby, being big-boned like my father, thus I had large, all natural, 38DD breasts and a wide ass. Conversely though, I have long thin legs which had both breast men and leg men often checking me out.
For the record, I had dated a few men over the years, a couple even potentially going further, yet none were Darren. Thus, I always found a way to end the relationship before it got to the moving stage. I realized I already had the perfect man in the house...it was now time to make it happen.
I began wearing shorter skirts at home, tighter blouses and heels...the things that had always got me what I wanted from men. Although my son did seem to notice my ample cleavage, I realized even if he was interested sexually in me he was way too shy to make a move...especially since I was his mother.
So at supper one day, six weeks since first seeing his cock, I decided to ask questions and learn more about his preferences.
At the table, I started by asking the usual question, "What did you learn today?"
He responded like he always did, with the teenage staple answer to almost any question asked by a parent, "Nothing."
I quoted, "Why do I pay school taxes then?"
He responded making my mouth drop open, the irony dripping, "So I can learn that some think Hamlet and his mother had an incestuous relationship."
I gasped. My son had brought out the very topic I was planning to try to get to in less than thirty seconds. Did he too know what I was feeling? What I was wanting? Did he want me as much as I wanted him?
I joked composing myself, "Apparently, the message of Hamlet has changed since I was in school."
Paul continued, "No, the message is still about religion, revenge and becoming a man, but if you read deeper into the words of Shakespeare it seems clear that Hamlet and his mom were having a sexual relationship."
I joked again, this time trying to see where his head was about the idea of incest, as I asked, "So you're telling me that according to Shakespeare to become a man you have to sleep with your mother?"
The words out...I realized I had just asked my son the most leading question ever.
His face went red as he stammered, "I'm not saying that, Shakespeare was."
"Do you concur?" I asked, dying to hear his answer...his nervous red cheeks adorable...my pussy sopping wet, I waited a long time to let the idea of incest between him and I linger in his mind before I added, allowing him to save face, "That Shakespeare wrote about incest."
"According to Mrs. Walker, incest back in Shakespeare's time was quite common among both royalty and the peasant classes, so it wouldn't be uncommon for a playwright to write about it," he answered.
I asked, again shifting my strategy to test the waters of his interest, "If incest was once common, did Mrs. Walker discuss when incest became inappropriate?"
Paul shook his head no. "It was a rather brief discussion actually. She just mentioned that if you go to college some professors go much deeper into the subtext of the play and the possible incestuous relationship between Hamlet and his mother."
"I see," I said smiling, adding one more subtle hint, "it's interesting how life always goes full circle."
Paul asked, "What do you mean?"
"In Hamlet, I don't completely recall the plot but I remember a speech about going full circle in life and death," I shrugged, before adding, fishing for a compliment, "but that was a long, long, time ago."
"Oh, mom, you just turned forty," he countered.
"I feel fifty, I countered, with a heavy sigh.
"Oh Mom, you're still a very beautiful woman," he replied, unable to maintain eye contact with me. Was I making him uncomfortable? Was I turning him on?
"Thank you, son," I said, standing up, walking over to him, bending down and giving him a big hug. I made sure my ample breasts pressed into him and that my perfume lingered. I bent down and gave him a kiss on the cheek, before adding, "You're so sweet, just like your dad."
Returning to my seat and sitting down, I noticed he was beet red and clearly overwhelmed by what just occurred.
The rest of the meal we chatted about his upcoming graduation, his summer job at the college library and college...although I asked questions, I am not sure I heard many of the answers as I pondered the reality that the seed for incest had been planted and now I had to help nurture it.
Now completely obsessed with my son, so compulsively obsessed with the idea of committing incest, I started researching just how common incest was and is in today's society.
The more I read, the more I came to see both the pros and cons of having an intimate relationship with my son.
After this fascinating research session, my cunt was begging for attention, so I pulled up Literotica and did a search for incest stories and couldn't believe the massive amount of stories about incestuous relationships. There were brother-sister, aunt-nephew, dad-daughter, and mom-son. There were also quite a few mom-daughter stories and other same sex variations. I redefined my search to mom and son and began reading. Although they were fiction, the stories drew me in as I imagined I was the mother and Paul the son. After a few stories, I brought myself to an intense orgasm.
The next day, I went online and read a forum full of people who admitted to having incestuous sex. Eventually I came across one that stirred me:
I started having sex with my son just after his eighteenth birthday. As he grew from teenager to man I couldn't believe how much he resembled his deceased father. When he wore a tux for his prom, I knew I wanted him. I researched the morality of incestuous sex, I chatted online with women who had had sex with their son and decided that for his nineteenth birthday I would give him the present that it seemed many boys fantasized about...his mom. We have been lovers ever since. Although we are not man and wife legally, we act like a married couple. Kennedy
Her story resonated in me as it was the exact same emotions I was feeling. I clicked on her name and was thrilled to see I could contact her by email.
Curious to know more, I emailed her:
Kennedy, I hope I am not being forward, but having read your brief declaration of your intimate relationship with your son, I was hoping for advice. I too want to have sex with my son. I too have lost my husband. I too see my husband in my son's looks, voice and mannerisms. Can you give me advice on how to cross the line? Eager Mother
Pressing send, I went back to Literotica to read a few more stories before heading to work.
Getting back from work around ten at night after a long day at the hospital, where I am a nurse, I slipped out of my shoes and went to check on Paul.
I unbuttoned another button on my blouse before I knocked on his door and said, "Can I come in?"
"Sure," he said.
I stepped into his room and found him on his bed reading a book. "How was your day, honey?"
"Riveting," he sarcastically responded, looking at me.
"Is that an SAT word," I joked going to his bed.
"I don't think so," he shrugged, seemingly looking down at my legs as I walked towards him.
"What are you reading?" I asked, reaching him and sitting on the edge of his bed.
"A Fault in Our Stars," he answered, "I need to finish reading it before the movie comes out later this month."
"Cool," I said. I leaned in and kissed him on the cheek again, before adding, "It was a long day, I'm going to go shower."
"Okay, Mom," he nodded, his cheeks again going red. Obviously my kiss either turned him on or embarrassed him. I was dying to know which.
I stood up and headed to the door. Stopping, I turned around, noticing he was again looking down at my legs. Curious if I was correct, I sighed, "Darn pantyhose," and returned to the bed, put my foot on the end of the bed, bent over and fixed my nylon at the toes.
Although he returned to his book when I looked at him, it was obvious he was checking out my legs. I wondered if he was a leg man. Darren had been a breast man. He would spend hours playing with my breasts. He even loved fucking them with a generous amount of lube. Although he came in my cunt sometimes, and my mouth sometimes, more often than not he finished by pumping his cock in between my tits.
Standing back up and heading out, again stopping at the door, I turned around and again he quickly glanced away. I said, with just a hint of sexiness, "Good night, honey."
"G-g-goodnight, Mom," he briefly stammered.
Leaving his room, I was suddenly confident of two things:
One: he was a leg man
Two: I did turn him on
This newfound knowledge exciting me greatly, I went to the shower and pleasured myself like I occasionally did with the powerful shower head while thinking of Paul fucking me.
In my room, dressed only in my robe, I opened my laptop to check if I had gotten a response from Kennedy. A chill of excitement went up my spine as I clicked on her reply.
Hi, Thank you for the e-mail. I remember when I was in your situation.
My mixed emotions.
I was his mother I shouldn't feel this way.
Incest is wrong.
I will go to Hell.
Yet, the more I denied my own feelings (and can your own feelings be wrong?), the more I fantasized about my son.
I resisted for months, self-destructing the relationship I was currently in with a good man...he just wasn't my son.
In the end, I decided to take the risk and have been in the most loving, most sensual and most sexually satisfying relationship of my life ever since...and that includes my husband who I loved with all my heart.
Sex should be with someone you love and care about and although society frowns on it (although it was once very common), the reality is your own flesh and blood, whether that be son, daughter, mom, father, aunt, uncle, niece, nephew or any other blood relative is someone close to your heart and thus a logical person to be intimate with.
In conclusion, don't be ashamed by your feelings, as I mentioned before what you feel in your heart can't be wrong (no matter what society says); that said, we moved to another state when we decided to live as lovers where no one knows we are biological mother and son.
If you have any questions, feel free to ask.
Kennedy On yahoo as momplussoneequalsfun (I know it is silly but I thought it was humorous at the time)
I read the email three times and, exhausted, decided I would respond tomorrow. I shut down my computer and went to bed...wondering what the odds were that Paul could remotely feel for me the way I felt for him.
.....
The next morning, I responded to her e-mail:
Kennedy Thank you very much for your encouraging response.
I felt overwhelming guilt for having sexual feelings for my son, which were slightly dissipated by my online readings...yet being in a similar situation myself (my husband died when my son was three), I feel much more at ease with my feelings after reading your e-mail.
My question is: How did you go from these early yearnings to eventually having sex with your son?
I hope that is not too personal of a question to ask. If it is I apologize for being so presumptuous as to ask it.
Courtney
This time I signed my name, no longer ashamed by my feelings.
I cleaned the house for a bit, and talked to Mom on the phone before I headed into work where my thoughts of incest faded into the back of my mind while the demands of the job took over.
That night, I again was exhausted, and I again decided to check on Paul, who this time was on his computer playing some online game and didn't even hear me knock.
Entering, I startled him as he had his gaming headphones on. "Mom! Crap, you scared the heck out of me."
"I thought I'd let you know I'm home," I said, going to his bed and taking off my shoes.
He turned away from his game, which I took as flattery, as he watched me. I joked, "I think it's time to get you a girlfriend."
"Why?" He asked, trying to maintain eye contact with me and yet on more than one occasion taking quick, he thought unnoticeable, glimpses of my legs.
"When I was your age I was going to parties, meeting boys and well," I shrugged, as I took my first shoe off, "you know."
"What?" my adorable, but innocent son asked, clearly unable to focus on my words.
"Making out," I answered. "Plus, I met your dad when I was eighteen, too."
"You did?" He asked, "You've never told me how you and Dad met."
"It was lust at first sight," I joked, as I tossed my second shoe on the ground and collapsed backwards onto his bed.
"W-w-what?" He stammered, clearly distracted by both my words and my legs.
I rolled onto my side to face him, my legs stacked onto each other, and said, "You're eighteen, I guess you're old enough to hear this, if you can handle your old bag of a mother telling you about her young, wild days."
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