章 1777: @3
The wine she drank wet her full, red lips in the way that he imagined his passionate kisses wetting her full, red lips. The wine she drank wet her full, red lips in the way that he imagined his cum wetting her full, red lips after she blew him and after he ejaculated his lust for her in her mouth and all over her pretty face. Leaving a red circle around his cock in the way she did on her wineglass, lipstick on the dipstick, he'd love for his mother to leave her bright, red lipstick on his cock. If she left her lipstick on his dipstick, he'd never wash his cock again.
Obviously, something she never saw before, after his mother had watched him masturbating, as if in shock, she stayed in his bedroom by his opened door to stare at his erect prick and to watch him cum. Now that he saw her fingering her nipple and her pussy through her clothes, he knows that she masturbates herself. He knows that she was obviously sexually aroused by seeing his naked, erect prick and watching him masturbating and cumming. Giving her a sexy striptease show, he'd love to masturbate himself again for her. As if he was a CFNM stripper and she was a birthday girl in the audience, he'd love for her to watch him stroke himself and cum again.
Perhaps, if she pretended that he was a CFNM stripper instead of her son, she'd lick whipped cream from his cock. All in good fun, maybe she'd even take his stiff prick in her mouth while stroking him. Maybe if she was drunk enough and horny enough, she'd allow him to put a gentle hand behind her blonde, pretty head and hump her mouth and fuck her face. He'd love nothing more than to cum in his mother's beautiful mouth. He'd love nothing more than to watch his mother swallow his cum. He'd love nothing more than to give his mother a cum bath.
Maybe, if watching him masturbate himself sexually excited her, she'd allow him to touch and feel her tits and finger her nipples while fingering her pussy. Who knows, maybe she'd even want to stroke his cock, suck his cock, and/or fuck his cock? Starting out small, rather than having a full-blown incestuous sexual relationship, he'd love to masturbate with her while watching a porn movie. From there, maybe they'd masturbate one another before moving on to licking, sucking, and fucking.
'Oh, my God, how hot would that be to watch a porn movie with my Mom while masturbating my mother and my mother masturbating me,' he thought?
Giving her another personal, private masturbation show, he'd love her to catch him masturbating again. He'd love to cum again just for her. As if that would ever happen but he'd love to not only cum in her mouth but also all over her beautiful face. Just as he envied his father for being sexually intimate with his MILF of a mother, he thought his father was a fool for leaving such a rare gem of a fine woman for a whore of a woman half his age.
An immature little girl, in the way that his father's whore was an 18-year-old child when meeting her and first having sex with her, he was no child then and is no child now. He was a 24-year-old man now who knew what he wanted and what he wanted was to have sex with his mother. Yet, as much as he was an incestuous pervert for lusting over his mother, his father was a pedophile pervert for lusting over his 18-year-old, ex-girlfriend. How dare he do that to his mother and to him? Their forbidden, sexual relationship started with his father when he was out shopping with his mother and his father was home alone with his girlfriend.
His girlfriend came looking for him and his father took sexual advantage of her by getting her drunk. As if having sex with his babysitter, a 42-year-old, married man having sex with an 18-year-old woman, that was so scandalous. That was so nasty. That was so wrong. Who knows with her having Daddy issues, maybe she was the one who took sexual advantage of his father? Then, with one thing leading to another, not long after, his Dad took off with his girlfriend. As soon as his divorce from his mother was final, he married Michael's ex-girlfriend, Jessica, four-years ago.
When he could have taken up with anyone else, his mother never got over his Dad marrying her son's ex-girlfriend. Now, at a time when she was the most vulnerable sexually, Valentine's Day, the day of love, romance, passion, and sex, he'd love to get his mother tipsy. Like father like son, he hoped that his mother would consume enough wine for him to take sexual advantage of her in the way that his father took sexual advantage of his drunken, ex-girlfriend. Not wanting her to drink enough to get sick, but he'd love for her to drink enough wine that he'd have to lovingly put her to bed.
'How hot would that be to slowly undress his mother and strip her naked,' he thought? 'How hot would that be for his mother to drink enough wine to loosen her morals, lessen her modesty, and lose her sexual inhibitions. How hot would that be for his mother to willingly and consensually, albeit drunkenly, have sex with him, her immodestly immoral and perverted son?'
If nothing more than a sexual fantasy that he enjoyed masturbating over, with her having not soundly slept since his father left, he imagined his mother intoxicated just enough to fall asleep on the couch. Checking to see if she was sleeping, he imagined feeling her breasts through her blouse and feeling her pussy through her panties before picking her up from the couch and carrying her to her bedroom and to bed. He imagined her short skirt climbing to her crotch and giving him an up-skirt view of her panties when putting her down on the bed.
Once he gently put her down on her bed, he imagined staring at her exposed, white bikini, panty clad crotch as she soundly slept. He imagined staring at her pussy slit, her camel toe, and the darker shadow of her pubic hair through her sheer panties. He imagined leaning down to sniff his mother's pussy through her panties. With sniffing her panties something he had always done when she wasn't wearing them but something he had never done when she was wearing her panties, he'd definitely sniff her panties.
Then, touching and feeling her inebriated body through her clothes and in all the places he always imagined touching and feeling her, he imagined she was his lover instead of his mother. Careful not to awaken her from her drunken slumber, as if unwrapping an expensive, Valentine's Day gift, he imagined undressing his mother. Just the imagined thought of undressing her sent shivers down his spine and erected his prick. Just the imagined thought of seeing her in her bra and panties, topless, and/or naked, made him want to encourage his mother to drink more.
"Allow me to fill your glass," he said refilling her wineglass. "Let's toast to Valentine's Day, the day of love, shall we?"
While she peacefully slept, he imagined unbuttoning her blouse one slow button at a time. Taking his time undressing her, he imagined stopping to see what each unbuttoned button revealed before unbuttoning the next button and before flaying open her blouse to expose her bra clad, C cup breasts. Instead of just seeing her cleavage and the top of her low-cut, sexy bra whenever she leaned forward at the waist in front of him, he imagined seeing the entirety of her white lace, satin bra cups. Careful not to awaken her, he imagined staring down at his sleeping mother to make sure that she was still sleeping.
Then, as if she was his girlfriend and they were making out while parked, he imagined feeling his mother's breasts and fingering her nipples through her sexy, low-cut brassiere as she slept. Taking a chance that she may awaken, but hoping that she didn't, he imagined leaning down to suck her nipples through her sheer brassiere, first one and then the other. Then, as soon as her nipples erected from him sucking them through her bra, he imagined fingering them through the wet spots on her bra. As if they were old style, radio knobs and he was adjusting the volume and/or changing the station, he imagined pulling, turning, twisting, pinching, and squeezing her nipples for them to erect even more.
Then, as if there was a drumroll of suspense going off in his head, now deeply immersed in the Devil's, incestuous playground, he imagined unbuttoning and unzipping his mother's short skirt with trembling fingers. As soon as he unbuttoned and unzipped her skirt, he exposed the side of her white, bikini panties. Careful not to awaken her by disturbing her, as if he was a pickpocket picking her pockets, he imagined stealthily removing her skirt in the way of slowly unwrapping another expensive, Valentine's Day gift.
Then taking a step back, he imagined staring at his mother in her sheer white, bikini panties and matching sheer, white, low-cut bra before taking out his digital camera to snap some, sexy, candid photos of her in her underwear. Taking picture after picture, he couldn't wait to view these photos of his sexy mother on his computer screen while masturbating himself. If only she knew he had photographed her, she'd be angry. If only she knew he had put her to bed and not only undressed her but touched and felt her everywhere, she'd really be angry. Yet, he didn't care.
Seeing her lying there on her bed soundly sleeping, he imagined her looking as if she was a dead body that he was viewing her at the morgue without the decency of a sheet. Now that she was there before his horny eyes in her sexy underwear, he imagined examining her sexy, shapely body more closely. Staring at ever mole and freckle, he stared at her as if she was his girlfriend or his lover instead of his mother. He stared at her as if she was naked. In the way that he had already seen of her in so many up-skirt peeks, he imagined seeing her pussy mound, her camel toe, and her pussy slit closeup through her sheer panties.
* * * * *
While she lay on her back so soundly sleeping with her legs slightly parted, he imagined touching and feeling his mother through her exposed underwear where no son should ever touch and feel his mother. As if she was a shoplifter and he was a male, loss prevention employee searching her for stolen goods, he imagined touching, feeling, and fondling his mother's breast while fingering her nipples through her bra. As if he was a customs agent in a foreign country searching her for drugs or for hidden contraband, he imagined feeling her ass before sliding a slow finger along her pussy slit through her panties.
'Wow,' he thought. 'How hot would that be to see my mother in her low-cut bra and white, bikini panties? How hot would that be to touch and feel my mother's sexy and shapely body through her underwear?'
Hoping he didn't awaken her, as if he was alone with a drunken woman on a subway, he imagined masturbating his mother through her panties as she slept. Gently masturbating her in her sleep, he imagined pressing down on her clit while sliding a slow but purposeful finger along her pussy slit through her panties. As if she was his blind date who was afflicted with Narcolepsy, he'd be deemed such a cad to take sexual advantage of his drunken, sleeping mother. Nonetheless, with him being such a sexual scoundrel, he imagined continuing to masturbate her while fingering her erect nipples through her bra.
Not nearly done undressing and incestuously and sexually assaulting his mother in her inebriated deep, sleep state, eager to strip her naked, he saved the best for last. As if unlocking a safe that contained his mother's secret and most valued, family jewels, he imagined ever so slowly and gently unsnapping her front snapping bra. Again, as if there was a drumroll of suspense going off in his head before parting open his mother's bra, he imagined how Moses must have felt just before parting the Red Sea.
Instead of rushing to open her bra to see her naked breasts, he took his time. The first time seeing her naked tits, he wanted to remember this moment forever. Leaving her bra unsnapped but in place, he imagined sliding a slow finger along her breast bone and in between her soon to be naked breasts. He felt the side and the shape of one of her bulbous breasts before feeling the size and the shape her other bulbous breast. Then, just before removing her bra cups, as if he had died and gone to Heaven, he heard angelic music playing.
'Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah,' he imagined angels singing before seeing his mother's naked breasts. 'Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah.' Interrupting his angelic musical serenade, he heard the Devil. 'Strip her. Strip her naked. Then, mount her. Fuck your mother. Fuck her.'
With incestuous, sexual anticipation erecting his prick, while imagining that he was opening the pearly Gates of Heaven or the deep, dark hole of Hell by parting his mother's brassiere, he was ready to reveal her naked breasts. Something he had yearned to see for six, long, sexually frustrating years and something he had imagined seeing while masturbating himself, this was the moment of his mother's unveiling. Hoping that she'd continue sleeping while he uncovered her breasts, he couldn't wait to see her big, naked tits.
'This was it. This was really it. I'm about to see my mother's naked tits,' he imagined thinking while undressing her. 'If it wasn't enough seeing her in her bra and panties and touching and feeling her everywhere through her underwear, I can't believe I'm finally going to see my mother's naked tits.'
* * * * *
He was stunned and in shock that he was about to unveil his mother's naked breasts. He couldn't wait to masturbate over all that he was imagining seeing of his mother now, later. As if he was opening the Tabernacle cabinet that housed the gold, Communion chalice behind the altar in a Catholic Church, Michael imagined holding his mother's unsnapped bra in each hand, before slowly parting her brassiere. He imagined feeling the way that Vincent Vega, played by John Travolta in Pulp Fiction, felt when opening the briefcase of Marsellus Wallace, played by Ving Rhames.
"Vincent," said Samuel L. Jackson as Jules Winnfield. "Are we good?"
'Oh, yeah,' thought Michael about to behold his mother's beautiful orbs. 'We're good. We're very good.'
As he parted his mother's brassiere, he imagined a shimmering light of gold emanating from her opened bra in the way that it did from the opened briefcase in Pulp Fiction. As if his mother's naked breasts were the golden idol in the Raiders of the Lost Ark, he imagined he was Indiana Jones played by Harrison Ford. When he finally separated his mother's brassiere, he imagined staring at her naked tits as if he had never seen naked tits before. He imagined staring at his mother's naked breasts as if they were an unearthed buried treasure or a priceless work of art.
Kneeling before them while worshiping his false idols, he imagined staring at her naked breasts as if they were religious symbols that were worthy of his undying worship. He imagined staring at his mother's naked breasts before touching, feeling, and fondling her naked tits. He imagined fingering her erect nipples in the way that he fingered blessed, holy, rosary beads. In the way his mother was exquisitely beautiful, he imagined her big, shapely, naked breasts being exquisitely beautiful too.
'Behold my mother's beautiful, big tits,' he imagined exclaiming.
Imagining that seeing her naked breasts were a religious experience, as if taking the Eucharist in his mouth, he imagined lowering his lips to his mother's breasts and taking her nipples between his lips, first one and then the other. While still masturbating her by rubbing her clit her through her panties with one hand, he continued feeling and fondling her big tits while fingering her nipples with his other hand. As if she was having a sexy dream, he watched her naked nipples erecting bigger in the way that his cock grew harder.
Still not done undressing her yet, while praying to Saint Valentine that his mother didn't awaken, as if she was a drugged and/or a drunken coed at a frat party, he imagined ever so slowly removing his mother's panties. The pièce de résistance, gradually easing them down lower, he imagined exposing the top of her blonde, trimmed pubic hair to his horny, incestuous eyes. While watching her closed eyes in hopes that she didn't awaken, he continued easing down her panties until her entire pussy was revealed. Then, ever so gently, he removed her panties from her legs, ankles, and feet.
'Oh, my God, my mother is naked,' he imagined thinking. 'If it wasn't enough that I saw touched, and felt my mother's big, naked breasts while fingering her erect nipples, I can't believe I'm finally seeing my mother's naked pussy. I can't believe I'm finally seeing my mother naked,' he imagined saying.
While hoping that she'd remain soundly sleeping, he couldn't wait to have some sexy, naked fun with his mother. Even though he thought undressing her would be enough and even though he thought he'd never sexually take advantage of his sleeping mother by having sex with her, he couldn't wait to have sex with her. Besides, nothing more than a sexual fantasy, an opportunity of a lifetime, he'd be nuts not to have sex with his mother.
As if he was ready to have her own religious experience by giving his mother communion with his tongue, he imagined gently and stealthily spreading his mother's long, shapely legs and taking the most holy of holies, her pussy, in his mouth. Gently and stealthily licking her pussy while fingering her pussy, as if he was her Holy Father instead of her horny son, once she was wet enough, he imagined anointing his mother with his hard, erect cock. Now that she was naked and prepped for sex, he couldn't wait to make love to her. Now that she was soundly sleeping, as if she was having a drunken dream, he couldn't wait to fuck her.
Carefully climbing on her bed when slowly and gently mounting her, supporting his weight with his hands, he was careful not to awaken her. With her already so wet, he reached between his legs and parted his mother's pussy with his erect prick. Ever so slowly humping her, he made love to his mother as if he was making love to the Virgin Mary. Then, as if she was preprogrammed to do so, she opened her eyes. When he imagined his mother opening her eyes, instead of rejecting him in horror, he imagined her wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist and consensually agreeing to having sex with him.
Now that she was conscious and having consensual sex, albeit incestuous sex with him, she returned his humps with her humps. Fucking her as if she was a whore in the image Jesus' lover, Mary Magdalene, he imagined pounding his mother's pussy until she had a sexual orgasm. With her tubes tied and her no longer able to conceive, he imagined pounding his mother's cunt until he ejaculated a huge load of cum in her pussy.
'Happy Valentine's Day, Mom,' he imagined saying after giving her sexual satisfaction by giving her incestuous, orgasmic pleasure with his erect prick.
After imagining fucking her, he imagined her giving him a deep, wet kiss. After imagining fucking her, he imagined her giving him a blowjob. He imagined her allowing him to cum in her mouth before shooting a second load all over her face, in her hair, and across her naked breasts. After imagining fucking her, he imagined making her his woman. After fucking her, he imagined making her his incestuous whore, sexual slave, and cum slut. After imagining having sex with his mother that first time, he imagined having sex with her all the time, every morning and every night.
'Happy Valentine's Day, Michael. You've made your mother so very happy,' he imagined his mother saying.
With her constant up-skirt peeks and down-blouse flashes, Michael's seduction of his mother is second only to his mother's seduction of him.
"Cheer up, Mom," he said. The sound of her sweet, imagined voice brought him back to reality from his sexual fantasy of putting his mother to bed, stripping her naked, and having sex with her naked body. His sexual daydream vaporized before his incestuous, horny eyes once he faced the reality of his mother sitting across from him in their living room. "It's Valentine's Day. The day of love. Happy Valentine's Day, Mother," he said again.
He walked to her and leaned down to give her another peck of a kiss on the lips, the lips that he imagined parting with his tongue to kiss her deep, wet, and long. Wondering what it would be like to French kiss her, he couldn't stop himself from imagining French kissing his mother. Wondering what it would be like for her to French kiss him, he couldn't stop himself from imagining his mother returning his kiss of sexual passion with her kiss of sexual passion.
Continuing his sexual fantasy of having intimate, sexual relations with his mother, he couldn't help from imagining his mother sucking his prick with those same, full, red lips. As if she was sitting there with his hard, hairy cock in her mouth, he couldn't stop from imagining his mother blowing him. Just as he'd love to part her lips with a French kiss, he'd love to part her lips with his cock for her to suck him. He couldn't help from imagining cumming in her mouth and then, giving her a cum bath, he couldn't help from imagining cumming all over her beautiful face, in her hair, and across her naked breasts.
'If only she knew what I was thinking, wouldn't she be shocked,' he thought? 'Only, if she knew what I was thinking, she'd be embarrassed and I'd be sexually excited. Besides, after my little masturbation show, she obviously knows exactly what I'm thinking. She knows that I want her. She knows that I want to have incestuous sex with her MILF of a body.'
"Happy Valentine's Day, Michael," she said returning his peck.
He gave her a loving smile while trying his best to hide the sexual lust that he had for her.
"As I was saying, we're both healthy and relatively happy," he said esoterically speaking as if he really believed what he was saying when he was just as sad as his mother. "You have a good job and I'll be getting a good job soon. Having much to be thankful for, we have more money than the average person out there who's struggling to put food on the table," he said.
He said what he said for the benefit of himself too while trying to get her to realize her blessings and forget her bad memories that all related his father dumping her for his 24-year-old, whore of an ex-girlfriend. As much as he was home alone with his mother, she was home alone with her son. He only wished that she sexually wanted him as much as he sexually wanted her. He wished he could hold her, comfort her, cuddle her, and spoon her. He wished he could sleep with her on Valentine's Day night.
"You're right. I know you're right," she said. "Blindsided that he'd want such a young, slutty girl over me, it's the rejection that hurts the most, even after all these years. With the holidays the most difficult, your father still haunts me as if he's dead instead of just being married to someone else. I'm sorry that I'm sad."
Acknowledging what she confessed, he gave her an understanding and comforting smile. Only, to be honest, he was glad that his whore of an ex-girlfriend was gone. To be even more honest, he was glad that his father was out of the picture too. With no one to stop him but his mother, he had a better chance of sexually soliciting his mother now that everyone was out of the way.
"I refuse to allow Dad to ruin another holiday with his child bride, whore of a wife," he said shaking his head and laughing. "It's hard to wrap my brain around that my ex-girlfriend is now my step-mother," he said with an angry laugh. "I just hope that when I'm his age, I don't lose my mind and want a woman half my age."
While sitting across from her, and hoping to enjoy the sexy sight of his mother's beautiful body, he hoped she'd give him another up-skirt flash of her bright white, sheer, bikini panties. He enjoyed seeing her pussy slit, her camel toe, and the darker shadow that her blonde, pubic hair made in her sheer, white panties.
While sitting across from her, and hoping to enjoy the sexy sight, he hoped she'd give him more down-blouse views of her long line of sexy cleavage and her revealing, low-cut bra. He loved his mother's big tits. Whether she flashed him her panties or her brassiere, he loved seeing forbidden peeks of his mother's sexy underwear.
With his mother feeling so glum, he didn't even feel guilty for wanting to take sexual advantage of her by seeing some part of her sexy, underwear clad body. He knew, if only she'd allow him, that he could make her feel better by giving her sex. Not understanding the sexual attraction that he had for his mother, it was all about incestuous sex with him. It was all about wanting to have sex with her. If he couldn't have sex with his mother, seeing glimpses of her underwear clad body to masturbate over all that he saw later, her flashes erased his horniness but increased his sexual frustration.
Still horny after his mother caught him masturbating and watched him cum while staring at his cock, he needed to have more sexy images of his mother to masturbate over later. It helped that he watched her touching herself while she stared at him stroking his cock. He enjoyed watching her fingering her nipple with her hand up her short skirt and down inside her panties. He only wished that her hand was his hand. He'd love nothing more than to finger her nipple while rubbing her clit. He'd love nothing more than to finger fuck his mother.
If nothing more than a sexual fantasy that he'd surely masturbate over again, with him having hope beyond hope to have a sexual relationship with his mother, he imagined his mother inviting him to sleep with her. Just like in SusanJillParker's story, Mom Sleep with Son on Christmas, he'd love to rewrite that story to read, Mom Sleeps with Son on Valentine's Day. While sleeping in the same bed with his mother, he'd love to hold her, hug her, cuddle her, and spoon her.
Instead of sleeping, he imagined touching and feeling his mother in all places where he should never touch and feel his mother as she slept. With her nightgown bunched around her waist, he imagined peeling down her covers at first light to stare at her naked ass. While being careful not to awaken her, he imagined touching, feeling, fondling, and squeezing her naked ass. He imagined stealthily fingering her pussy from behind. Hoping that she'd think she was dreaming, he'd love to get his mother's pussy wet. He'd love to hump his mother while she was sleeping.
He imagined seeing more of his mother's sexy, shapely body than he ever had before. Without a doubt, if he was invited to sleep with his mother, especially if she was a little drunk, he'd be sexually molesting his mother as if she was a Hollywood starlet and he was Harvey Weinstein. Only, unfortunately and alas, nothing more than another one of his sexual fantasies, just as he knew she'd never have sex with him, she'd never invite him to sleep with her. Besides, if ever she invited him to innocently sleep with her, he could never sexually behave.
Difficult for him to curb the sexual lust that he had for his mother, he stared down at what she was showing of her long, sexy, and shapely legs. He was glad that she wore more short skirts than she did pants. With her swimming and still playing tennis every week, proud of her legs, she had the legs of a dancer. She could dance for him any day, as long as she was dancing around a pole while removing her clothes. How hot would that be to have a mother who was a stripper? How hot would that be to see his mother naked?
'Oh, my God, I'd love to watch my mother strip herself naked,' he thought while imagining putting dollar bills in her G-string.
* * * * *
With blue her favorite color, she was wearing his favorite, short skirt, the navy blue one that parted at the bottom even when completely buttoned. The contrast of seeing her bright, white panties encapsulated by her dark blue skirt, drew in his eyes and caused him to stare even more. As if he was staring a fire in a fireplace, he stared at the sight of his mother's exposed panties.
Even when completely buttoned, when she stood and leaned forward, he could still see her panties peeking out at him in between her buttonholes. Calling this skirt her panty flashing skirt, his favorite skirt, this skirt gave him the best chance of him seeing her panties even when she was standing and especially when she was bending in front of him. Last Christmas, hoping she'd only wear these panty flashing skirts, he bought her this skirt in every color, red, black, brown, green, and grey.
'Peek-a-boo,' he thought whenever seeing a flash of her white panties. 'Peek-a-boo,' he thought while wishing he had the nerve to reach his finger in between her open button holes and finger her pussy through her exposed panties. 'Peek-a-boo,' he imagined saying while fingering his mother's pussy.
Even with her knees tightly cemented together, there was still a triangular opening above the top of her shapely thighs that, unless she crossed her legs, gave him a continual view of her panty clad crotch. As much as he loved seeing flashes of his mother's panties, he loved seeing her panty clad crotch more. He loved seeing quick glimpses of her camel toe, her pussy slit, and the darker shadow that her blonde, trimmed, pubic hair made through her sheer panties. No doubt imagining more than he was seeing while undressing her with his eyes, even though he had never seen her naked, he had a good sense of that his mother looked like without her clothes.
Every time she wore this skirt, she rewarded him with flashes of her white, attention grabbing panties. He loved his mother's panties. He loved sniffing her worn panties when masturbating. He loved going through her lingerie drawer to touch, hold, and finger her underwear while pretending that he was touching, holding, and fingering them while she was wearing them.
Every time she flashed him her panties, she made him so horny. He wondered if she was deliberately or accidentally flashing him her panties. He wondered if she knew he could see her panties every time she stood, sat, and/or crossed and uncrossed her legs.
Every time she flashed him her panties, he wanted to finger and lick her pussy through her panties. Being that she flashed him her panties so very much, he couldn't help but wonder if she deliberately flashed him her panties. Like mother like son, he wondered if his mother was an incestuous exhibitionist in the way that he was an incestuous voyeur. If she wouldn't have incestuous sex with him, he'd love to spend his days with his mother flashing him. He'd love to spend his nights having his mother catching him masturbating over the thoughts of having sex with her.
'How hot would that be if my mother was purposely flashing me bits and pieces of her underwear clad body,' he thought? 'How hot would that be if my mother continually watched me masturbate while I pretended that I didn't know she was there watching? A game I'd love to continually play with her, how hot would that be for my mother to touch herself while I stroked myself?'
He wished his mother was his sexy slut. He wished his mother was his incestuous whore. He wished his mother sexually wanted him in the way he sexually wanted her. He wished his mother would put the sexual moves on him in the way that he'd love to put the sexual moves on her. He wished his mother sexually seduced him in the way that he hoped to sexually seduced her. He wished his mother would get him drunk in the way that he'd love to get her drunk.
As if the couch was complicit in helping her flash him her panties, whenever she sat on the couch in this skirt, her hem climbed to the middle of her shapely thighs. His favorite view to see, she always showed him a lot of her gorgeous legs. She made him wish he could slide a slow, purposeful hand up her short skirt. She made him wish he could touch, feel, and lick his mother's legs before licking her higher and licking and fingering her pussy through her panties.
'How hot would that be to touch and finger my mother where I'm not allowed to touch and finger my mother? I wish I could finger my mother's pussy through her panties,' he thought.
As much as he loved her big breasts and her shapely buttocks, he loved her shapely legs too. Nothing more than a sexual fantasy, he wished he could move his hand all the way up her short skirt and in-between her legs to nirvana. He wished he could cup his mother's pussy through her panties while kissing her. Then, once she was wet, he wished he could push her panties aside with his index finger and rub his mother's clit while finger fucking her pussy.
* * * * *
Earlier, before flashing him her panties, from the panty line that he saw when she was leaning at the waist to stoke the fire, she was wearing panties, just panties. 'Praise the Lord,' he was glad that she wasn't wearing pantyhose. Unless she was wearing nude, sheer pantyhose without panties that showed her pubic hair, pantyhose prevented her from flashing him her panties. He hated pantyhose but he loved panties. He had a much better chance of her flashing him her panties when she wasn't wearing pantyhose. He'd rather see panties than a naked pussy. He didn't understand women who didn't wear panties. Panties are sexy and going without panties is gross and even unhygienic.
Someone should flog and then strangle the gay, fashion designer who invented pantyhose with pantyhose. Someone should force him to wear pantyhose. He was glad his mother would rather put tanning lotion on her legs than to wear pantyhose in the winter. If it was too cold, she'd just wear pants. Yet, fortunately for him, whenever she was in the house, she almost always wore a short skirt.
'Pantyhose? What in the Hell were you thinking? What in the Hell is wrong with you? Are you nuts? Are you insane? Have you utterly lost your mind? Unless she's an older woman with varicose veins, putting pantyhose on shapely legs to cover a panty clad pussy is sacrilegiously un-American,' he imagined saying to the inventor of pantyhose. 'Shame on you! Shame on you! Take that and that,' he imagined horny, American men flogging gay, fashion designers with pantyhose.
In violation of the Mile-High Club, there should be a law that woman cannot board a plane while wearing pantyhose. Sorry but shapely and attractive women shouldn't be allowed to board a plane, including stewardesses, especially stewardesses, while wearing pantyhose and/or tights. He hated unrevealing tights as much as he hated pantyhose.
"Sorry, Miss," Michael imagined a TSA agent saying. "Unless your 50-50, 50-years-old and 50-pounds overweight, you must remove your pantyhose before boarding the plane. Pantyhose offends too many horny men who live and breathe in hopes of seeing your panties."
In order to board the plane, he imagined women reaching beneath their short skirts to remove their pantyhose right there in pubic.
"Sorry, sorry," he imagined women voicing their apologies to men who live and die to see flashes of their panty clad pussies. "What was I thinking? I have no idea what I was thinking to wear pantyhose in public. Shame on me."
* * * * *
Hopefully losing her inhibitions while drinking, he hoped that if she drank enough wine that she'd forget who she was with and where she was. Hopefully, while drinking, he hoped she'd part her knees more with her inebriated morals, lessened modesty, and relaxed sexual inhibitions. Giving him more to masturbate over later, he'd love nothing more than to see a constant and continual, up-skirt, flashing view of his mother's bright white, sheer, panty clad crotch.
Then, giving him plenty to masturbate over later, he hoped that she'd lean over him to give him a continual down-blouse view of her breasts. He loved seeing his mother's bra clad tits as much as he loved seeing her panty clad pussy. There was something so sexually exciting about seeing a view of the tops of her breasts, her long line of sexy cleavage, and her sexy low-cut bra. Even better than seeing her naked breasts, in the way that he loved seeing his mother's panties, he loved seeing her sexy bra too.
Fortunately for him, with her not thinking that he'd be lusting over her, she was comfortable and immorally, immodest enough around him to always not sit like a lady. Fortunately for him, with her not as careful as she should be around him, in the way she would be with any other man, she was always inadvertently flashing him up-skirt peeks of her panties and down-blouse views of her bra and cleavage. Fortunately for him, that is until now that she caught and watched him masturbating, and heard him call her name, she obviously didn't suspect that he was as sexually attracted to her and was masturbating over her until now.
After catching him masturbating over her and hearing him calling out his incestuous lust for her, she obviously now knows his sexual attraction to her. He'd love for her to catch him masturbating again. He'd love her to stare at his naked, erect prick. He'd love for her to watch him cum while hearing him calling out her name.
Oddly enough, until his father was no longer around, perhaps because he had more sexual opportunities while in college, he wasn't as sexually attracted to his mother before as he was now. Once his father wasn't there to invade upon his private time with her and interfere with his sexual feeling for her, his incestuous lust grew in the way of a wildfire. Once his father was no longer around to criticize how she dressed and how much she showed, she stopped wearing bathrobes over her sexy nightgowns. Seldom wearing pants, she wore more short skirts.
'I love you, Mom,' he thought. 'I want to have sex with you.'
It wasn't until his father left his mother for a woman half her age that Michael appreciated his mother more. It wasn't until his father left his mother for his ex-girlfriend that Michael felt and commiserated with her pain. With them always laughing and whispering as if they kept secrets, now that his father was gone, he grew even closer to his mother. Now that his father wasn't around passing his judgment and his disapproval on him and on her, he had more sexual opportunities to hopefully enjoy his mother in all manner of undress.
With him having no other woman in his life but his MILF of a mother, his sexual thoughts more turned to having forbiddingly inappropriate sex her than to having normal and appropriate sex anyone else. Especially when she was inadvertently or deliberately flashing him her cleavage, bra, and/or panties, his mind was sexually focused on his mother. Especially when he was masturbating while imagining seeing her in her sexy nightgowns, her bra and panties, topless, and/or naked while having sex with her, he thought of no one else but her.
* * * * *
"Sorry for my sadness. Don't mind me. I don't want to ruin your holiday, Michael," she said staring at the fire that burned brightly in the fireplace before returning her focused attention to him. "Back before we were married and before you were born, most of my Valentine's Days were with your father. Our day of love, we exchanged romantic gifts on Valentine's Day before having a night of intimacy," she said letting out a long, soulful sigh. "I can't help it but, having known him for thirty-years, I still miss him."
As if she was suddenly cold, she wrapped her hands around her wineglass as if it was a coffee mug or a mug of hot cocoa and she was sitting in a ski lodge. In the sexy way that she looked so sadly vulnerable, if she was any woman other than his mother, he'd take her in his arms, hold her, hug her, and comfort her. Wishing he could kiss her while touching and feeling her through her clothes, he suddenly had this urge to French kiss his mother in the way that he kissed her in his sexual fantasies.
He wondered what she'd do if he tried to really kiss her. He wondered what she'd say if he tried parting her lips with his tongue. He wondered what her reaction would be to him touching and feeling her through her clothes while French kissing her. Yet, not wanting to ruin things between them, more sexually enticing for him now, it was titillating fun to see up-skirt peeks of his mother's panties and down-blouse views of his mother's cleavage and bra.
"I don't miss Dad in the way that you do. With him always drunk and angry, he wasn't very nice to you or to me. I'm glad he's gone," said Michael for more than one reason.
Obviously, Michael wasn't just glad that his father was gone because he was always drunk, angry, and mean to him and his mother. He was glad that his father was gone because now he had his mother all to himself. In the way that his father deserted the love of a forty-two-year-old woman six-years-ago for the sexual infatuation of a young, eighteen-year-old whore, after more than twenty-years of marriage, not enough man for her, his father didn't deserve his mother.
"He was more than just my husband. Your father was my best friend, my lover, and my life," she said looking as if she was about to cry. "Difficult for me not to accept some of the blame for our divorce, he was a good man before he started drinking and cheating on me."
Michael looked at his mother aghast that she was blaming herself for her husband leaving her.
"I don't understand how you can blame yourself for Dad's drinking and screwing around," said Michael. "Obviously, his head was turned by a younger woman, a whore. His leaving you for her had nothing to do with you. You need to stop blaming yourself for his perversion and for his drunkenness," he said while thinking about his own incestuous perversion in wanting to have sex with his mother.
With her chin up as if she was suddenly proud of him, Kimberly smiled at her son.
"Thank you for understanding," said Kimberly. "Not very good for my self-confidence when the love of my life leaves me for a woman half my age, how could I compete with her? There was no way that I could. Moreover I didn't share his love for drinking. Yet, sadly and admittedly, I'm drinking more now than I ever did before, especially around the holidays but that's my cross to bear," she said lamenting her sadness while admitting her sudden fondness for French red, wine and Californian, white wine.
With him so physically dependent upon her, he wondered if his mother was feeling as emotional connected to him as he was now feeling emotionally connect to her. Now that Jessica was gone and he was home alone with his mother, he'd gladly chose his 48-year-old mother over his 24-year-old ex-girlfriend. A bizarre occurrence, it was odd that Jessica was sexually attracted to his father in the way that he was sexually attracted to his mother. Yet, had she not left him for his Dad, he may not have realized the incestuous lust that he felt for his mother.
"I'll always be here for you, Mother," said Michael.
She leaned forward in her seat on the couch and reached out her hand to take his hand.
"You may be my man now but you won't be here for me very long once some lucky woman makes you her man," she said pausing as if thinking better of what she was about to say. "Even though you're my man now, Valentine's Day isn't the same without a man in my bed."
'Wow,' he thought. 'I'm her man.'
He had never thought of it in that way before. He was her man now, his mother's man. Only, with him wishing he was the man in her bed, he couldn't help but to question the meaning of her remark. What did she mean by that? When she connected those two phrases together, you're my man and her needing a man in her bed, was there more to her saying that he was her man and that she needed a man in her bed? In addition to being her son, could he be her man, the man in her bed too? Unable to read her mind, he didn't know.
He imagined being in bed with his mother and his mother in bed with him. He imagined being in bed naked with his mother and his mother in bed naked with him. He imagined making out with his mother when they were both naked.
Whenever he masturbated over his mother, he thought of her in her white, sheer, bikini panties and her low-cut bra. He thought of her when wearing one of her short, sheer, and sexy, low-cut nightgowns. He thought of her topless before thinking of her naked. Whenever he thought of his naked mother, he thought of him naked with her too.
Touching and feeling her everywhere, he imagined having incestuous sex with his mother. He imagined licking and fingering her pussy and her sucking his cock. Sex, sex, and more sex, he imagined having sex with his naked mother. He imagined making love to his naked mother before fucking his naked mother. He imagined really pounding her pussy until she screamed his name in orgasmic pleasure. He imagined giving her multiple orgasms with his fingers, his tongue, and his cock.
'Michael! Michael! Oh, God Michael. Fuck me, Michael. Fuck me. Fuck me faster. Fuck me harder,' he imagined his mother as his lover. "Make me cum, Michael. Make me cum!"
* * * * *
Michael remembered how his father and mother continually fought and argued. The same redundantly looping argument every day, stopping at one place one day to continue the argument in the same place the next day, it was obvious to him that his father no longer loved his mother. It was obviously to him that his father had a woman on the side that he was seeing and screwing.
Not believing he'd be fucking someone his own age, he figured his father would be having sex with a much younger woman and he was right. His father couldn't find a woman more beautiful and who had a better body unless she was much younger. Just as his mother was surprised that he had been having sex with a woman half his age, Michael was surprised that his father had been having sex with his girlfriend, Jessica.
"In the way that he constantly and continually mistreated you, lied to you, and cheated on you, I can't understand why you still miss the man. He was a drunk and a pig for taking up with my ex-girlfriend, a woman young enough to be his daughter," he said which was what he hoped to do with his mother. Convoluted in logic, he hoped that his mother would not only take up with a man young enough to be her son but also a man who was her son. "That's disgusting. He's disgusting," said Michael. "You've wasted enough time and tears over him."
Finally, he hit a chord of reason. As if finally understanding that her ex-husband leaving her wasn't her fault, she looked relieved. As if finally understanding that her husband was a drunken, cheating asshole, she obviously needed to get over him. She needed to move on with her life. She needed to move on with him. She looked at her son to acknowledge what he said about his father with renewed insight. She looked at him with love and kindness in the way that he looked at her with lust and desire.
"You're right. I know you're right. For him to treat me like that, after all these years, was wrong, but it still hurts," she said with sadness. "I didn't deserve to be abused in the way that he abused me."
He looked at her wondering why she was here with him instead of attending some Valentine's Day, romantic dance at a nightclub while hoping to meet someone. Tempted to ask his mother out on the town, he imagined dancing with her and having a good, sexual time afterwards. Only, how would that look with him treating his mother as if she was his date? What if they saw someone they knew? Besides, until he found a good paying job, he didn't have any money to go anywhere and to do anything. He had already blown his budget in buying her Valentine's Day gifts.
"You need to go out more Mother," he said. Every time he called her mother, he thought of Norman Bates in the Bates Motel calling his mother, Norma, mother. It made his skin crawl to think that he was like Norman Bates but, in essence, no better than him, he was. "You need to meet someone. You need to forget about him and move on with your life," he said pausing while looking to see what reaction, if any, his words had on her.
Before looking up at him to answer him, she looked down at her nearly empty wineglass as if all her answers were there. Not wanting her to go without answers, he poured her more wine. Maybe if he got her drunk, she'd invite him to sleep with her. Maybe if he got her drunk, she'd have sex with him.
"I know you're right Michael but sometimes, especially when I'm feeling sad and lonely, my head and my heart go in opposite directions. Too preoccupied thinking about him, where he is and what he's doing, I'm not ready to have a relationship with another man, not just yet," she said. "Oddly and convolutedly enough, if I had sex with someone else, I'd feel that I was cheating on him."
She slowly shook her head while looking out the window behind him and he turned to look too.
"It's snowing," he said.
As if they had never seen snow before, they watched the snow silently fall.
"At least we'll have a white Valentine's Day," she said changing the subject with a smile. "I love freshly fallen snow. Maybe we can play in the snow and make snow angels and a snowman tomorrow."
As much as he'd love to play in the snow with his mother and roll around with her making snow angels, he refused to allow her to change the subject. As if she was his snow bunny and they were at a ski lodge, he'd love to kiss his mother in the snow. He'd love to strip her naked and have hot sex with her in the cold snow. Yet, he needed to break her out of her sadness. He needed to encourage her to go out and meet someone.
* * * * *
As if seeing her for the first time and in a new light of sadness and vulnerability, he looked at her as if seeing her more as a potential love match for some man instead of looking at her as his mother. Suddenly feeling jealous that she'd rather be with someone else than with him, he didn't want another man kissing and pawing his mother in the way that he wished he could kiss and paw his mother. In the way that she was so loyally faithful to her father, he didn't want her to be blinded by the love of another man. He'd rather keep her all for himself.
With him back living at home, now was his chance to make his move on his mother. In the way that she deliberately or inadvertently and continually flashed him her panties, cleavage, and bra, he sensed she was sexually interested in him as much as he was sexually interested in her. Adding more proof to his suspicions, she didn't immediately leave his bedroom when she caught him masturbating. Instead of leaving his room embarrassed, she stayed and stared at his exposed prick while sexually and excitedly touching herself. Instead of leaving his room, she fingered her nipple through her blouse and bra and moved her hand beneath her short skirt to finger her pussy inside her panties.
'As much as I still can't believe my mother stayed to watch me stroke myself and cum, I can't believe she was masturbating herself in my bedroom,' he thought and unable to forget.
He stared at her knowing that she'd be the perfect match for some man. With her prettier and sexier than most women her age, surely there were men who would rather be with her than to have sex with women half their age. Unlike other women who were beautiful and sexy, his mother wasn't high maintenance. She was kind and loving. Moreover, she was a good housekeeper and a great cook.
"Maybe you should try online dating," he said rethinking what he was about to say next but saying it anyway. "I can help you make your profile. I'll even take some sexy pictures of you to post," he said pushing his luck while hoping she'd agree to him photographing her in sexy, sexual poses.
As soon as he offered to take some sexy photos of his mother for her online dating profile, he was dizzy with incestuous desire for her. He couldn't help but think of her wearing one of her short, low-cut, sexy nightgowns with nothing underneath. Lighting up her sheer, nearly transparent nightgown with his camera flash to make it virtually see-through, he'd love to photograph his nearly naked mother for fodder when he masturbated over the thoughts of having sex with her again. Continuing his sexual fantasy, he imagined her standing before his camera again wearing only her panty and bra, being topless, or even naked.
Only, as soon as he mentioned helping her to make an online profile, she made a disapproving face. Then, as soon as he said that he'd take some sexy photos of her, she made another face before looking at him with a glimmer of sexual excitement. Maybe his mother was an exhibitionist after all. Maybe, she had been deliberately flashing him her panties in up-skirts and her bra and cleavage in down-blouses. In the way that he was a voyeur, he'd love for his mother to be an exhibitionist.
'That would be so hot to photograph her in a sexy nightgown. That would be so hot to photograph his mother in her panty and bra,' he thought. 'That would be so hot to have a photograph her in her sexy underwear. That would be so hot to photograph her topless and/or naked,' he thought while continuing his sexual fantasy of his mother and now needing to masturbate himself again.
As if she was a Playboy model hiding her nipples, dressed in just her panties, he imagined his mother removing her bra to cup her breasts with her hands while he took dozens of photos of her nearly topless body. Strictly for artistic purposes, of course, he wondered if she'd allow him to photograph her in the nude, face down on the couch, or on the rug. For artistic purposes only, of course, he'd love nothing more than shooting shots of his naked mother while she danced around a pole. They have a pole in the garage, a Lally column, but it would be too cold for her to strip herself naked out there.
Besides, nothing more than a sexual fantasy, she'd never allow him to take sexy, cheesecake, and nearly naked photos of her. She'd never strip naked or dance naked in front of him. Perhaps falling for those lines, that her photos were for artistic purposes and not sexual in nature, nonetheless, he imagined her allowing him to post photos of her in her bra and panties, topless, and/or naked. Yet, sexually frustrated again, nothing more than feeding his masturbating fodder for later, who was he kidding? She'd never allow him to take any sexy photos of her never mind allowing him to post any sexy photos of her online.
Yet, even though he wouldn't want a horde of men ogling his topless and/or naked mother, he'd love to see sexy photos of her. If he ever saw his mother in her bra and panties, topless, and/or naked, he didn't know if he could control himself from touching her and feeling her where no son should ever touch and feel his mother. If nothing else but for masturbation fodder, he'd love to have photos of his mother in all manner of undress on his computer. He'd love to show a select few of his friends what his mother looked like in her sexy nightgown, in her bra and panties, or topless and naked.
Having thought about installing a peephole camera in her master bedroom and master bathroom, he only thought of doing that when he was masturbating himself. Just as he'd never strip his drunken mother naked and have sex with her drunken body, he'd never spy on her with hidden cameras. Yet, it was sexually exciting to imagine doing those sexy things when he was pulling his prick with the thoughts of her in her sexy nightgown, her bra and panties, or topless and naked.
* * * * *
"Online dating?" She looked at him as if he was nuts, drunk, or both. "I'd never post my profile online with all those creepy and perverted men out there who'd contact me for sex. I'd never allow you to take sexy photos of me to post online," she made a sour face and a nervous laugh. "With me your mother and you my son, that would be wrong. That would be nasty. That would be incestuous," she said looking at him as if she was thinking about posing for him and asking his opinion rather than making a declarative statement.
He shrugged her his encouragement.
"Why not? It's just a photo, Mom. What's the big deal. You show more of your body when wearing your bikini," he said.
She sighed and rolled her eyes while making another sour face as if she had just bitten into something bitter.
"With all the invasive practices our government does with reading people's private e-mails, I'd never post my photos online to the cloud. Who knows who'd see them and/or steal them? Someone from my work, my church, or from the neighborhood may recognize me. I'd be so embarrassed for someone that I know to see something of me that they shouldn't see," she said putting her hand to her breast as if she was already topless.
If she dared allow him to post her profile along with her sexy photos, he imagined e-mailing his mother as if he was a man interested in dating her. If she dared allow him to post her profile along with sexy photos of herself, he imagined his mother sexually interested in his anonymous self. With them writing sexy and salaciously erotic correspondence back and forth, he wondered if he could persuade her to send him even sexier photos of herself. How hot would that be for his mother to fall for his anonymous self and send him photos of her in all manner of undress?
"Not every man out there is a creep and/or a pervert," he said with a laugh while knowing that he was an incestuous pervert when it came to wanting to see his mother in her bra and panties, topless, and/or naked.
Changing the subject again, this time moving the conversation from her to him, she looked at him in the way he had been looking at her. When she gave him a sexy smile and a naughty look, he wondered what she was thinking. He wondered if she was thinking of him posing for her as he hoped that she'd pose for him.
"What about you?"
'What about me,' he thought. 'I'm sexually attracted to my MILF of a mother. I masturbate over the thoughts of my mother naked. I masturbate over the thoughts of having incestuous sex with my mother. I want to kiss her, touch her, hold her, strip her naked, and have my wicked, incestuous, sexual way with her naked body,' he thought.
He looked at her with guilt for always trying to see something of his mother that he shouldn't see.
'I wonder if she asking me if I'm a creep or a pervert?'
If she was looking at him as if he was a creep or a pervert, indeed he was a pervert, an incestuous pervert, but he wasn't a creep. He was a kind, caring, and sensitive son, a son who loved his mother, an understatement. He looked at her with as much curiosity as he looked at her with confusion. He looked at her with sexual lust and incestuous passion. Hoping she didn't think of him as a creep or a pervert, he asked the question.
"What about me?"
Now, perhaps, as if she was imagining him posing for her, she looked at him in the same sexy way that he looked at her.
"You don't have anyone in your life either, Michael. Why don't you post an online profile to help you find someone to date?" She paused as if rethinking what she was about to say before saying it. Then, in the way that he said what he was thinking, she said what she was thinking too. "You write the profile and I'll take some sexy, beefcake photos of you in your underwear," she said with a sexy laugh.
tempting offer, he'd love nothing more than to pose for his mother in his underwear. Only, he'd be posing with a huge erection tenting his briefs. Who knows? Perhaps if he posed for his mother in his underwear, with her having already seen his cock, she'd ask him to pose naked.
Perhaps, if he posed for his mother, she'd pose for him too. Who knows? Perhaps, if he posed for his mother in his underwear, she'd posed for him in her underwear too. Perhaps, if he posed naked for his mother, she'd post topless or naked for him too. Just as he'd love to pose naked for his mother, he'd love nothing more than to take some sexy photos of his mother in her underwear, topless, and/or naked.
With one thing leading to another, perhaps from taking photos of one another, they'd have sex with one another. Lots of models have had sex with their photographers during a photo shoot. How hot would that be for the camera to snap some timed snapshots of them having sex? Only nothing more than his imagination running wild, just as she'd never sexually pose for him, she'd never have sex with him.
"Eww, Mom? Eww! Gross, that's so gross," he said feigning his disgust while trying to hide his sexual excitement by the thought of posing naked for his mother.
He thought more about posing for his mother. He'd love to pose for his mother in his underwear. He'd even be willing to pose for his mother naked. He'd love to show her his erect prick again. No doubt, as soon as he removed his pants, he'd have an erection. Maybe she'd ask him to masturbate and cum for her, too. Maybe if he masturbated for her, she'd masturbate for him.
Yet, something he'd love to do, he wondered if she'd seriously ask him to pose naked. Just as he'd love for his mother to pose naked for him, he'd love to pose naked for his mother. No doubt, as soon as he posed naked in front of his mother, he'd want to masturbate for her too. He'd love for his mother to photograph him masturbating and cumming. Yet, as soon as he posed naked for his mother, he'd want to have sex with her. Only, just as she'd never ask him to masturbate and cum for her, she'd never have sex with him.
Stuck on the thought of photographing his mother in all manner of undress, cock and balls for tits and pussy, maybe if he posed naked for her, she'd pose topless and/or naked for him too. Stuck on the thought of masturbating for his mother, maybe if he masturbated for his mother, she'd masturbate for him too. Whether she masturbated for him or not, he'd love to see more of his mother's hot body. He'd love to have sex with her MILF of a body.
At the very least, he'd love to have sexy photographs of his mother. Adding to his sudden horniness, he imagined his mother in her sexy nightgown. He imagined his mother topless and/or naked and posing while he snapped dozens of photos of her beautiful body. Only, nothing more than another one of his sexual fantasies, just as she'd never masturbate for him, she'd never pose for him without her clothes.
"Oh, don't be so shy," she said waving a hand of disinterest. "You don't have anything that I haven't seen before," she said with a laugh. "Besides, I'm not about to ogle my own son."
Unfortunately, he couldn't say the same for himself. If given the chance, he'd leer and stare at whatever his mother was showing him. She had everything he hadn't seen before and couldn't wait to see now. In the way that she supposedly wouldn't ogle him, he'd ogle her. In the way that she was sexually turned off because he was her son, he was sexually turned on because she was his mother.
* * * * *
Not believing that their dialogue was going anywhere but to sexually frustrate him, he changed the subject. Nonetheless, with the thoughts of his mother posing for him in her bra and panties, topless, and/or naked, he'd be masturbating over this conversation later. With the thoughts of him posing for his mother in his briefs and/or naked with his protruding erection showing his incestuous, sexual lust for her, he'd be masturbating over that later too.
"You can't be alone the rest of your life. What happens when I meet someone, marry, and maybe even move out of state? We all need someone to love. We all need someone in our lives. You're still young and such a beautiful and sexy woman. You still have lots of life to live," he said. "You need to live your life, Mom, with a special man, someone who will be kind, caring, and who will love and support you."
A ridiculous thought fueled by his incestuous horniness, he suddenly wished he could live with his mother forever as man and woman instead of as mother and son. He didn't need another woman to sexually satisfy him when he had his mother. Yet, he seriously doubted that she felt the same way. If he was to suggest that living arrangement to her, she'd think there was something wrong with him. She'd think that he was nuts. She'd think that it was something she did wrong when raising him. She'd want him to have his head examined by a psychiatrist.
"When your father left me and rejected me for someone much younger, he opened my eyes. With my life all about him, he never took the time to consider my wants, needs, and feelings. If all men are like that, then I'm not eager to live my life with another man. I'd rather be alone, than to have another man break my heart by cheating on me," she said. "Living here alone isn't so bad. As long as I still have you in my life, I'm happy being alone and not having to cook, clean, and cater to another man's whims and needs while feeling compelled to give him sex."
Obviously, he was his mother's only link to the outside world and for her to socialize with someone. With her going everywhere with him, food shopping, to the mall, and even to the movies, it was as if they were already boyfriend and girlfriend or husband and wife instead of mother and son. With him her only child and with them not having much family, at the very least, she needed friends.
"What about friends, Mom? Do you have any?"
A flash of anger crossed her face before it dissipated in calm resignation.
"Friends?" She laughed a demonic laugh. "As soon as I divorced your father, my so-called friends wanted nothing more to do with me. They feared that I'd steal their husbands," she said with a laugh. "Trust me, I didn't want any of their fat, lazy, drunken husbands. Their husbands were no better than my ex-husband."
He remembered all the friends they had when his father was still with her. Obviously, nothing more than drinking buddies, and with the men all after her and cornering her for a cheap feel and a kiss, he couldn't believe that they were all gone. Divorce has a way of severing all ties. Sadly, just as divorce has a way of closing one chapter in life by opening a new chapter, instead of starting her life anew, his mother not only closed the whole, damn book but also burned the book.
"You could make new friends," he said.
She shrugged him a look.
"Now that I know how fickle people are, I'd rather be alone than to go through all the bullshit of pretending to care about someone who really doesn't care about me," she said.
With him thinking the same thing about people being fickle, playing right into his thoughts, he wondered if she'd live forever with him in the way that he wished he could live forever with her. There was something that sexually excited him about having an older woman as a lover, especially when that older woman was his mother. In the way that he could offer her a hard cock and plenty of stamina, she could offer him her motherly love and sexual experience. With there no other woman better than his mother, he imagined that there'd be no better woman to have sex with than with his mother.
"There's always the chance that your father will dump his whore and come crawling back to me," she said with sad disillusionment.
He couldn't believe she thought so little of herself to even think that.
"He's gone Mom," said Michael with anger. "He's not returning. He's never coming back," he said obviously happy by that thought. "Not all men are insensitive, selfish pigs. There are a lot of good men out there who aren't married, lying, cheating bastards and who only think about sex," he said. "Some men actually put women first before their wants, needs, and desires. Some men are kind, caring, and thoughtful with their women," he said while thinking of himself.
Only, in the way that he was sexually thinking about his mother, he was as much of a pig as was his father. Yet, different from his father, he was an incestuous pig. Different from his father, instead of wanting to have sex with a younger woman or even a woman his age, he wanted to have sex with an older woman. Where his father no longer wanted to have sex with his mother, he wanted to have sex with his mother. Instead of rejecting his mother in the way that his father had, he was hoping to embrace his mother, especially when she was without her clothes.
"I know you're right," she said with sadness while staring in her wineglass as if reading her fortune in a cup of tea leaves. "Yet, now that I'm older, I'm grateful for the small things in my life. I don't need anyone, especially a man to make me happy. Never having much family and always being alone, I don't need a lot of friends. Been there and done that," she said.
Suddenly, as much as he felt sorry for himself by the fact that he'd never bed his mother, he felt sorry for her that she was still carrying a torch for his father and was willing to live alone. Based on this conversation, he'd never have sex with his mother. In the way she now felt about sex, she'd never invite him to sleep with her in the way that Susan invited her son, Charlie to sleep with his mother, in the story, Mom Sleep with Son on Christmas.
"You need someone, Mom, if only a companion and not a lover," he said.
She gave him a warm smile.
"As long as I still have you in my life, even for just short visits, I'm happy living alone. The fact that we're living together now, until you get a good job to support yourself is a bonus and my blessing. I just wish you hadn't spent all that money on Valentine's gifts for me," she said fingering the nightgown he bought her. "The nightgown is beautiful. I can't wait to try it on," she said.
* * * * *
He didn't understand her not having any friends. Yet, like mother like son, he didn't have many friends either. Reminding him of Norman Bates and his mother, Norma, they were different from other mothers and sons. Now that he was back home and living with his mother, content on being alone as long as they were together, they mostly kept to themselves. With him looking older and her looking younger and with everyone, no doubt, suspecting that they were husband and wife or boyfriend and girlfriend, no one knew that they were mother and son.
All his friends had short, fat, ugly, and older mothers. He was the only one with a tall, sexy, beautiful, and younger mother, a mother who looked younger than her age instead of looking older. If the shoe was on the other foot and she was their mother, they'd be as sexually attracted to his mother in the way that he was. Not feeling guilty for his sexual attraction to his Mom, he only wished his incestuous, sexual feelings were reciprocated. He couldn't image how much better life his life would be if she was sexually intimate with him.
Such a waste of a good woman, he couldn't imagine his mother without a man in her life. He couldn't imagine his mother living alone and living without romance, intimacy, and sex. He couldn't imagine him without his mother in his life. Only, if she found someone else, no doubt always wishing it was him being sexually intimate with her, he'd be jealous of her lover. Just as she needed to get a life, he needed to get a life too.
"Everyone should have someone in their life, Mom. Everyone should be appreciated and happy in their life instead of being unappreciative and sad," he said. "You deserve to be happy."
As soon as he said that, it pained him to imagine his mother being appreciated by another man. As soon as he said that, it pained him to imagine her having sex with another man. It made him jealous just to imagine another man seeing her in the way that he'd love to see her in her bra and panties, topless, and/or naked. It angered him to imagine another man touching her, feeling her, and fondling her in all the places that he'd love to touch, feel, and fondle her. When he thought about some man sticking his cock in his mother's hand, in her mouth, or in her pussy, he wished he was her lover.
"I'm grateful for lots of things. I am. I truly am. I'm grateful for the warm fire," she said looking at the fireplace. "I'm grateful for my house," she said looking around the living room. "I'm grateful for you returning home after graduating college to live with me albeit temporarily until you find a good job and your own place," she said giving him a little laugh and a warm smile.
With her only leaving the house to go shopping, sometimes he wondered if a nun living in a convent had a fuller life than his mother.
"Maybe you should get a dog or a cat, Mother," he said with a laugh.
She nodded her head.
"Your father took the dog and I'm allergic to cats," she said with a laugh. "I'd like to get another dog but pets are a lot of trouble. I can't imagine having to walk a dog in this snowy cold. Yet, I got everything I wanted in the divorce, the house, the furniture, the car, and the savings. With him not wanting any of it, all he got was his freedom to be with that whore. Yet, admittedly, now that you mention it, I'm still sad and I don't know why, other than I'm lonely."
Lost in the translation, he figured that she felt uncomfortably awkward saying how she really felt. Being that was his definition, he imagined her definition of loneliness was horniness. Only, no doubt, her definition of loneliness was friendship and companionship. Obviously, in the way that he never could do without sex, his mother could do without sex.
If he was reading her correctly, especially after she stayed to watch him masturbating and cumming while she fingered her nipple and pussy, he sensed that she was as horny and as sexually frustrated as he was. If he was reading her correctly, especially after she suggested that he pose in his underwear while she photographed him for his online dating profile, what she said about being lonely wasn't lost in his translation of horniness and sexual frustration.
A mother with her son and a son with his mother, it wasn't lost on him that they were both together without someone on Valentine's Day. Now that he was older, he thought more of his mother as a sexual woman and as a sexual partner than he did as his mother. A man and a woman instead of a mother with her son alone on such a romantic evening, he thought more of his mother as his girlfriend or as his potential lover than he did as his mother.
If only she felt the same sexual way about him in the way that he felt about her, he'd be so happy. If only she felt the same sexual way about him in the way that he felt about her, he'd make her so happy. Just once, he'd love to kiss her, French kiss her. Just once he'd love to feel her through her clothes while kissing her. Just once, he'd love to undress her, strip her naked. Just once, he'd love to make love to her before fucking her.
He'd love to give her multiple sexual orgasms with his fingers, his tongue, and his cock. He'd love her to give him multiple orgasms with her hand, her mouth, and her pussy. Just once, if only to hold her, cuddle her, and spoon her, he'd love to sleep with his mother. Only, who was he kidding, he could never sleep in the same bed without trying to have sex with her.
With him always having the need to masturbate himself over the topless and naked thoughts of her, he wondered if his mother was horny in the way that he was always horny. He wondered if she sexually fantasized over having sex with him in the way that he sexually fantasied over having sex with her. Never imagining she did, he wondered if his mother even masturbated. He wondered if his mother masturbated over the thoughts of having sex with him in the way that he continually and constantly masturbated over the thoughts of having sex with her.
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