I’ve heard about it all the time, all my life, so much that sometimes it doesn’t even register: How hot my mom is, how every guy who ever meets her wants to get it on with her, how she’d straighten out a gay man and turn nuns into Lesbians. (The best I ever heard was “Your mom would give Christopher Reeve a hardon.”) After a while I just sort of stopped listening, but I suppose I always knew it.
I don’t think it’s her blond hair, or not just the blond hair, or even that she’s got a very pretty face, lean and bright when she smiles, which is a lot. It’s more than that, I think. I mean, Mom and I work out pretty regularly, keeping ourselves in shape. We’re not Nazis about it or anything; it’s more like a family-time hobby for us. So her body’s always been lean and tight, more like a teenager’s than a woman in her thirties, someone who’s been sitting around in an office chair for a decade. Mom’s a physical therapist — the licensed kind, not those goofs that twist and bend you and do more damage than the accident that had you needing PT in the first place — so maybe a lot of our fitnessy tendencies came from that.
My friends were always the worst, teasing me about it, even saying things like if my mom was that hot, fuck yeah I’d keep it in the family. I guess that’s why, once I started High School, it was on my mind more and more. Plus it never helped that they were always pestering me to visit. “Hey, Paul — is your mom home? Can we go to your house?” Stuff like that.
And “Hey Paul — can you take some pictures of her sometime? Like in the shower?”
That one nearly got Greg (the Christopher Reeve guy) decked.
But this story isn’t about Greg or anyone else from school or how obsessed they are with my mom.
It’s about me, and about her.
* * *
I guess I’m normal in most ways, which is what makes all of this so weird. I mean I never thought of myself as the kind of guy who’d — okay, I’m in track and swimming, and never had a major zit problem or anything, and all that other stuff that’s supposed to make you popular. And I guess I am; I know girls like me, but it was girls that sort of started all of this.
Or maybe it wasn’t. I mean, it was also my dick that … of course it wasn’t just me, either, so…
Fuck, I really don’t know what the hell started any of this.
But I do know where I can trace a lot of threads to, like a spider’s web sort of, thin little lines that all radiate from a central place.
For me that central place is the blue Internet Explorer icon on our computer’s desktop.
* * *
My Sophomore year began like I expected it to. We’d had track and swim tryouts before school started and I knew I was on the teams again, so that wasn’t a surprise. I was fifteen and headed into driver’s license age soon; I’d be due to get my permit in a couple months. At first I was pretty stoked about that because we’ve got this second car — truck, actually — a beater for doing whatever loading and hauling has to happen, like when we’re doing centuries.
Oh yeah. Mom’s really into cycling. She got me into it too, when I was just a little kid. We do these hundred-mile rides called centuries some weekends, and we usually ride with a bunch of others. We make it sort of a party, load the truck with provisions and head out from Pedalphiles, the bike shop downtown that everyone wishes they’d rename someday, but Mom says that’s part of the charm of the place, making charm sound almost like a dirty word. Then we ride and ride and ride, and then we go back.
Mom’s got a really nice Cannondale, an eighteen-speed road bike (men’s, she always points out, not step-through) and I had just got my second Trek. I’d outgrown the first one the previous year. That’s part of the price teenagers pay for discovering girls, Mom used to joke. Like I’d never known they existed until hair sprouted on my balls or something.
Anyway, I learned that I’d have to drive with a licensed driver, so there went my dreams of all my friends jumping out the back of the truck as I ferried us to the school doors, Mom-free, maybe with a girl up front, maybe even Jeanette Wozniak (who is a hell of a lot prettier than her last name, but my last name is Sanakopalos, so maybe I’m not a good judge).
Jeanette and I … we knew each other from Frosh year, but only because we’d had one class together. So at the start of tenth grade there was nothing much, and then it looked like there might be, and then … well, let me get to that in a while.
Classes I’d signed up for at the end of last year so there were no surprises there. Math, English, history. Social studies, physics. PE. French. And like a billion extracurriculars — track, of course, and swimming, but also tutoring. Not for me; I’m pretty good with math so I help others with it.
I first learned about the tutoring in track. Rob Cortez mentioned to me one day that he was getting help and I asked what he meant. It made him turn red at first because he was embarrassed. I learned that a lot of the student tutors are what a lot of jocks call geeks, and they acted … smug when they were helping some dumb athlete type. So I signed up for it just to try to even things out a little. At first they thought I needed help, and then that my being there was a joke. It took most of them weeks to unwind when I was around, but after a while they learned that I wasn’t one of the name-calling type of jocks, and it got cool.
Okay, so that’s only three ECs, not a billion, but it feels like an assload when you’re in the middle of it all.
Things went like I expected until September, when I finally worked up the sauce to talk to Jeanette. She wasn’t a cheerleader; she wasn’t a jock; she was just this … this girl, with soft blond hair and really lovely pale-blue eyes and, from what I could tell, a good hot body too. Not that all I ever think about is body, body, body, but fuck, it does matter. I mean, I’m a teenager and horny. You have to expect me to notice things like a tight round butt or perky tits, right? Cums with the territory, Greg might say.
Jeanette and I were waiting outside the doors one afternoon. We nodded and stood around and it was awkward and shit, so I finally went over to her and asked her how the year was going.
She brushed a wisp of hair back from her eyes. “Fine,” she said.
“Oh,” I said, “good.”
We stood around some more.
“How about you?”
“Oh,” I said, “great.”
“That’s nice,” she said.
We stood around some more again.
You know, I do okay with my body. I can run, I can jump, I’m a good swimmer and not bad at diving. I can dance — I took classes when I was a kid — and I’ve done some martial arts too. But I felt like the clumsiest idiot in the universe right then, because it was Jeanette.
“Huh?” While I’d been trying to think of something to say, anything at all, Jeanette had beat me to it and I hadn’t even heard her.
“How’s the team doing?”
“Um, all right, I guess.”
Her eyebrows rose. “You guess? I thought you were in track.”
“Oh. Yeah, well, yeah, I mean…” She was asking for specifics, like were we winning or was the team mostly made up of morons like me instead. “Yeah, we’re fine.” Oh! “You know there’s a meet Saturday — why not come and see for yourself?”
She looked doubtful. “Oh, I don’t know … I’ve never been to something like that…”
“Come on,” I said, wondering if I sounded desperate, because I think maybe I was, slightly, sort of like how the moon is slightly farther away than Paris. “It’ll be … uh, well, maybe fun for you, but it’ll be different if you’ve never done it before, at least.”
She wavered, and then nodded. “Yeah, okay, I’ll see.”
“Great,” I said, like she’d just agreed to go to bed with me.
“Oh, that’s me,” she said as a car pulled up. “Hey, Ma.”
“Hi honey,” said Jeanette’s mother, and then looked at me. I waved.
“Ma, this is Paul Sanakopalos. He’s in track.”
“Hello, Paul,” she nodded. “I’m Ruth Wozniak.”
We shook and it felt too formal to be funny. She looked like Jeanette, I thought, about the same eyes and hair, and young-looking too. “Glad to meet you,” I said.
“Paul asked me to go to a meet with him,” Jeanette said, and then I saw her ears flame red. “Uh, I mean, he … he said…”
“There’s a meet this weekend, Mrs. Wozniak,” I said.
“Miz,” she said carefully. “But you can call me Ruth.”
Jeanette rolled her eyes. “Ma’s hung up on that Miz thing,” she said to me.
“Just asserting my independence,” her mother cut in.
“Oh,” I said. Jeanette had leaned in the window to talk to her mother, and her shorts were … yeah, they were there, but they were there in a way that let me imagine pretty clearly what it would be like if they weren't, and her legs were slender and they jumped a little as she shifted balance, long muscles in her thighs strong and lean, her skin tawny and fine hairs like silk all down her legs. “Uh, so well anyway Jeanette said she’d never been to one, and I thought maybe she could, you know, stop by, Mi — uh, Miz — Ruth.”
“That sounds nice,” Ruth said.
“So I can go?” Her top, I had to notice (horny teen, remember?), was sheer enough that in the sunlight I could see her bra, which was a sensible white that stood out against her deeper, tanned skin tones. My dick, already leg-admiring frisky, lunged upward when the thought crossed my mind that, if she hadn't been wearing a bra, her nipples would be visible in that clinging cloth, that it was the kind of material that turned transparent when it got wet.
“Of course you can, dear,” Ruth said. “You know I’d never interfere with your social life.”
Jeanette rolled her eyes at me again — by simply existing, the look said, Ruth already was doing more more than just interfering, and I smiled in a way I hoped was sympatheic but was probably more of a simper, or maybe a lust-filled leer — and she climbed into the car. “So,” she said.
Little beads of dew had gathered on her cheek and neck, a mist of sweat from the heat of the afternoon, and I was completely out of orbit by then, suddenly craving salt. “Huh?”
She took a breath. Her breasts swelled under her top. “What time Saturday?”
“Oh! Uh, be there at nine? AM.”
She smiled. “Okay,” she said, and the car pulled off.
* * *
I did too, after I got home. Jeanette’s smile had burned itself into me.
I perched in front of the computer and clicked through some porn, looking for girls that reminded me of Jeanette, but there weren’t that many — in my mind I could put her face on any body, and that was all right, but not the same — so I closed my eyes and resorted to an old standby, making out in my bedroom while Mom was out, trying to get done before she got home and walked in on us in the act.
Us was whatever girl I wanted that particular day; this time it was salt-dewy Jeanette, and her breasts weren't caught in a foundation garment, and I could see that clearly because she had somehow contrived to spill water on herself, and we were urgently ripping off our shorts, our tongues already intimate with one another, wriggling closer and closer to a good hot creamy fuck before…
I sat exposed, my shirt off, shorts pushed down, cock throbbing in my grip as my strokes became more rapid and urgent, my balls tightening against my crotch, the wave of cum building inside me, the pressure mounting constantly as I raced time. There actually was some danger; the computer is in the living room, and Mom really could have come in the front door any second. Somehow that thought always made it more exciting to me. I always shot more goo, harder, in the chair than I did in the bathroom or my bedroom, where I knew I’d have privacy.
Sometimes the fantasy would branch. Me caught, jacking off, Mom standing before me with wide eyes, demanding to know what the hell I thought I was doing…
When I came that afternoon, Jeanette’s smile flashing behind my fluttering eyelids, it made it all the way to my pectoral cleft, a rich pearly batter of sperm. Not bad for a kid who’d been dry-firing just three years ago.
* * *
The track meet went okay but I lagged behind in the cross-country run. When I got back the captain reamed me pretty good for it. It pissed me off but he was right; I was off my stride that day.
Jeanette heard most of it. After the event she’d drifted up, I guess to say hi, and then I’d got myself good and yelled at. After the captain stalked off, looking for another ass to chew, she came up to me. “Hey,” I said.
She looked very embarrassed.
“Don’t worry about that,” I said, sitting on the bench and getting a cup of Gatorade. “He’s always like that when we’re doing okay. When he’s nice to us we worry.”
Jeanette laughed. “I thought you ran well,” she said.
“Yeah, well, thanks but I didn’t. My stride was short. I burned off too much energy this morning.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“No, no, not doing anything like that — I don’t even have a girlfriend,” I said. “I had an early ride with Mom.”
The corner of Jeanette’s mouth tweaked up and I knew right then I could really like this girl.
“You’d better not be thinking what I think you’re thinking,” I said, “and then accuse me of being the pervert.”
She laughed again. We both laughed. It felt pretty good, making Jeanette laugh like that.
“We cycle,” I said, “every weekend.”
“Oh,” Jeanette nodded.
“Usually shorter rides, sometimes longer. I overdid it this morning, that’s all,” I shrugged.
“Is that why your legs are so…” Her face went as red as my jersey.
I smiled. “Yeah,” I said. “That’s why.” I got a another drink, a cup of water, not Gatorade. I split the two when I’m running, cycling or doing anything else really active. Keeps me charged with ’lytes but also keeps me hydrated. I drank it, got another cup and took off my top, dumping the water over my chest, looking to see how Jeanette would react.
She got a lot more red, but her eyes got pretty busy on me too, and from how she was looking at me I guessed it wasn’t just her eyes that wanted to roam over me.
By the time she left the meet we’d exchanged phone numbers and our first kiss.
* * *
Back home Mom made a good power lunch, fresh fruit slices with nuts and some cottage cheese. Perfect. Light, digestible and full of energy. As I stood up from the table my thigh caught its edge and my quads tightened up into a hot tiny fist over the bone, and I nearly screamed.
She was to me in a moment. “Paul?”
I leaned on the table, breathing hard. “Cramp,” I said. “Not enough —”
“Yeah,” she said, “I didn’t think you had enough potassium or carbs in you to ride and run today.” She shook her head. “You’re young and strong, son, but even you aren’t indestructible.”
“I’m fine, Mom,” I said.
“Oh? Walk away then.”
I groaned. She had me. I wouldn’t be able to take three steps and she knew it.
She pulled my arm over her shoulder and helped as I hopped over to the sofa. She laid me down and pulled off my socks (shoes come off right away at home to prevent athlete’s foot), then looked at my quads. The horrible knot was still there and she poked gently until she’d found it, then began caressing, working her fingers in, freeing up the muscle.
I was distracted.
Mom … I’d never really noticed it before, but she looked a little like Jeanette. Or like how Jeanette’s older sister would look.
And not that much older either; Mom’s body is great, really the best. She keeps in shape. And she’s got … I hadn’t really noticed before but her breasts were … if they’d been on anyone else…
That’s how Mom was all over, I realized. If it had been anyone else I would have noticed a long time ago.
She always wore either cycling gear or light, breathy things like thigh-length sundresses. Either skin-tight or half not there, because where we live it’s always at least warm, and sometimes really hot. Today was the lime-green sundress she’d changed into after our pre-dawn solo century, and as she massaged my leg I noticed her panties.
I mean, the dress had ridden up her thighs a little and from the angle I had I could see her panties.
They were shiny, satin I think, and purple.
I’d never imagined Mom in anything like purple panties before. Well, I’d never given thought at all to her panties. Then the thought came: I wonder what color Jeanette’s were today.
Her hands were still on my leg, still massaging the cramp. “Shit, Paul,” she said. “That’s a tight one.”
A lot of unbelievably filthy images crossed my mind right then, images that somehow mixed Jeanette and Mom together, like it was Jeanette’s clothes from today with Mom’s body in them, like Jeanette was telling me how tight it was, but when I looked up from what we were doing (in my mind), it was Mom on top of me.
“You’ve got bigger too,” she said.
Even more images flew across my brain. They were … you can guess.
But what really freaked me right then was how horny they made me. My dick, which had been behaving perfectly, instantly swelled and tried to jump clean off me.
That wouldn’t have been a terrible problem, necessarily, except I’d showered after getting home and was naked except for boxers.
Well, I hadn’t planned on getting a hardon, okay?
I don’t think Mom noticed it right away, which is just amazing, because my dick had risen to point straight up at my head, and was pushing at the cloth of the boxers in an obvious way. It looked like I had a Trident nuclear submarine in my shorts. It was so hard that it pulled the cloth far enough off my legs for my balls to show a little.
There was nothing I could do to make it go away either; I couldn’t possibly cover it and it was throbbing, actually throbbing, and I could see the ridge of my head through the cloth of my boxers, even trace a vein running along the underside of the shaft. I might as well have been naked for all the coverage those damn shorts were giving me.
I almost groaned at that thought — being naked in front of Mom, with a massive boner, and her in purple panties, and … oh shit.
I’d just noticed she wasn’t wearing a bra.
…Purple panties, a thin green sundress and nothing else.
And it got even harder when I thought that Mom had to see it soon … and maybe instead of shitting her pants she’d say something like “Looks like you’ve got another cramp,” and want to start massaging that for me.
Fuck, I thought, where the hell did that come from?
I could tell when she finally saw it, because her fingers got cold suddenly and she got pretty quiet. And she kept looking up into my eyes, just glancing furtively sometimes.
I crashed, going from horny to miserable faster than it took to tell it, and my dick finally settled down, curled up and sorry just like I felt. I didn’t want to make her feel bad. Ever since Dad left I’d tried to take it easy on her, not being a total shit all the time like some of my friends were with their folks. And here she was trying to undo a cramp for me while I sat there with the biggest boner I’d ever had.
I guess my being almost naked didn’t help much either.
She finally worked out the cramp and leaned back. “You better now, Paul?” Her voice was cool, distant.
“Yeah,” I said, my own voice really low.
“Good.” She pushed my leg off hers — her skin was smooth and warm — and stood up, turned away, then paused to turn back. “Paul…”
I looked up at her. Her eyes weren’t on mine; they were on my boxers. “Yeah?”
She looked up at me, and her face turned deep red, reminding me once more of Jeanette. Oh no, not again… “Forget it,” she said. “I’ll get the Icy Hot.”
“Okay,” I said as she turned away again, wondering what she had been thinking of saying, wondering what there was to say, wondering what it meant that her nipples had been hard in her sundress.
Her thin, translucent sundress.
My cock swelled hard again as more of those crazy images filled my head.
* * *
You know how you settle down after you jack off? Think your fantasies are a little over the top, how maybe you were a little crazy for a while?
That’s how I felt a few minutes later, sitting in the bathroom on the toilet lid.
I’d popped in to “put on the Icy Hot” but I was pretty sure what I did in there sometimes wasn’t much of a secret. I didn’t actually need privacy to rub some ointment onto my thigh.
But it wasn’t my thigh I had rubbed in private.
I looked at the cum that had shot out of my dick just a few moments earlier, glad I’d angled for the bathtub.
What a fucking mess.
It was everywhere, thick white streaks of spooge rolling down the tan tiles. I’d shot clear across the width of the tub, but there were plenty of spatters in the tub itself. And on the floor, and on my dick and on my hand.
I’d blown the biggest load of cum I’d ever shot in my life right then, all because of the thoughts that filled my head. Thoughts of touches, forbidden touches, of clothing slipping off skin made sweaty in the sultry heat of the day and the sparking heat of lust, of a green sundress moving up along a torso and sliding over shoulders and falling to the floor, of bared breasts in my hands, nipples in my mouth, kisses hot and sweet and impossible, purple panties sliding down lithe, strong thighs, my nose in a silky blond bush, another kiss, a special kiss to lips I’d never tasted before, never even seen before live and in person … and my dick slipping into those lips, feeling the warmth and moisture of a pussy sliding along my cock’s shaft for the first time, losing my virginity, my head moving in and in and in…
She was my mother. I was having these ideas about my own mother.
And that made my dick hard again.
I looked down at it, wondering what the fuck was wrong with me, then got some tissue to clean up the residue.
A mop would’ve been more like it.
* * *
That evening Mom sat down with me on the porch. We did that a lot, watching the sunset, talking about stuff. It was pretty good.
Usually it was. Tonight was different.
“Paul,” she said carefully, “I think we need to talk.”
“Oh yeah?” My face flamed but I refused to admit I knew what about. Of course I knew. It had been on my mind all afternoon. I’d popped one while my mother was massaging a cramp in my leg.
“Don’t be dense, Paul,” she said. Then she cleared her throat. “Look, this isn’t easy…”
“So why even bring it up?” I really, really did not want to talk about it.
“Because we have to,” Mom said quietly. “Listen, Paul … as boys get older, as they turn to men…”
“This isn’t that talk,” she said. “Fuck, Paul, give me some credit, okay?”
The obscenity surprised me. I settled down to listen.
“A boy … can sometimes get ideas about … about the girls in his life.” She looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. “Or the women,” she said.
“Look, it was an accident,” I said. “It doesn’t mean anything…”
“It does, Paul,” Mom said. “It means you’re … male, that your hormones are working. It means you’re a … a sexual being and you’ve noticed others are too.” She swallowed. “Like me.”
“Mom…” It was a groan.
“I’m sorry, Paul, but I know how these things work, how they can catch you off guard.” She swallowed again. “It was kind of a surprise.”
That actually made me laugh a little. “Yeah,” I said, “kinda threw me off balance too.”
“I’ll say,” she said. “You should’ve tipped right over with … uh, never mind.”
“Whatever,” I said.
She studied her hands again. “Paul, I’m going to tell you something in confidence.” She looked up at me. “All right?”
I wasn’t sure why I was suddenly so nervous. “All … all right.”
“I know about how things can happen between two people sometimes,” she said quietly. “And I don’t want us making any … mistakes.”
“It’s easy for a body’s desires to overcome the mind. I know it is, because … Paul, when I was your age, I … had sex with my brother.”
I couldn’t believe it. I stared at her for a few moments and finally managed, “Uncle Brett?”
“That’s right,” she nodded. “Brett.”
“Why?” I blurted, then regretted it. Don’t tell me, I don’t want to know.
“It was an accident,” she said, and I thought of how I’d used that word a minute ago to describe my hardon. “I was just getting out of the shower and he was just coming in, had just got back from work. He was out of school by then, and — anyway, we stared at each other for a long time and he … reacted, and … and anyway, things … happened.”
“You did … uh, it? Everything?” Looking back maybe that wasn’t the best question to ask right then, but I didn’t have any idea what to say next, and Mom clearly wanted me to say something. I was flustered, sure — my mother had just told me that, when she was fifteen, she’d had sex with her nineteen-year-old brother. That would fluster a fucking statue.
“Everything,” she said quietly.
Fuck… “I’m — sorry,” I said.
“It was a long time ago,” she shrugged. “After it was done, later, we promised each other it wouldn’t happen again.” She sighed. “And it made things between us … odd for a while.”
“I bet,” I said. There was no trace, no hint now when they were together that they’d ever — I thought of Mom, as a girl my age, fucking her brother Brett, who had been a jock too, imagined her pinned under his broad muscular shoulders, her head thrown back and her eyes closed and mouth open in a silent gasp of ecstasy as she shuddered with Brett’s dick in her pussy, thought of her coming, of him coming, Brett coming inside her, of his juice being so much that it leaked out of her pussy, all around his pulsing shaft, and felt a stirring from south again.
More than a stirring.
What the fuck? I asked my once-more rigid dick. Would you stop doing that?
No, it throbbed.
At least I’d changed into something more safe than boxers. The containing snugness of the briefs I had on, coupled with the tentlike khakis, hid everything in that area.
Still the tip pushed above the waistline of the underwear and I shifted uncomfortably.
“So anyway, Paul, I want you to understand that I know how things can … sometimes be with boys.” She swallowed. “And with girls. Don’t feel awkward, all right? It’s a phase, a stage in your life, and it’ll pass.”
“When?” I said.
“Maybe after a few more dates with Jeanette,” Mom said, and it took me a while to figure out what she’d meant by that, but by then my problems had only got worse.
* * *
Jeanette pulled away. “Stop,” she said, “stop.”
I stopped, surprised, hurt … a little angry. “Why?”
“I just … it’s too soon, Paul. I’m not ready.”
“Not…” I shook my head.
Jeanette was half bared, wearing nothing now but bikini bottoms. Her top lay on the sand next to us, right where she’d put it after taking it off.
“Didn’t you … did I hurt you?”
“No,” she said. “It felt great.”
“I want my first time,” Jeanette said, “to be with someone … very special.”
“Oh.” I got it.
“No, that’s not what I mean,” she said. “I just want … I have to be sure, Paul, that this is … right, for me and for you.”
I studied the lake, the little cove we’d snuck off to. “So why’d you let me … why did you take off your top? And kiss me like that? Why’d you let me … touch them?”
“I … my feelings got away from me,” she said. She touched my arm. “I know how that sounds, know what it makes me look like — but Paul, if we … did it, and it wasn’t right for both of us, it would be bad.”
I chewed on that for a while, still angry, but at least no longer hard. Still, my balls would ache later, I was sure. “Yeah, well, you have to be sure,” I said quietly.
“Don’t be mad,” she said.
“I can be if I want to,” I snapped. “Don’t tell me how to feel, Jeanette. We’ve been going out for two months now and all we’ve ever done is kiss a while, and then you say stop, and then we hold hands and … and feel each other, and you say stop, and you were the one who asked me to go out here with you, you asked me to this place so we could be alone, and you get me wired, you get me hard, you put your hand right on my boner and you take off your top right in front of me and say come on, kiss them, and then say stop, and you tell me not to be mad even though this is like the millionth time you’ve said stop.” I shook my head. “Fuck, Jeanette, if you don’t want to then don’t, but don’t get things started, okay?”
She was crying by then and it made me feel even worse. “I’m sorry, Paul,” she sniffed.
“Goddamn it,” I said, and put my arms around her. “I’m just — Jeanette, I really like you. This up-down stuff … look, okay, you’re not sure. I understand that and it’s okay. Really. But when you jack me up like this and then leave me high and dry, girl, you gotta understand that’s tough on a boy.”
She nodded against my shoulder. “I don’t do it on purpose, Paul,” she said. “Every time we … start, I think I want to, but then I just … I get scared.”
“Of what?” I wanted to know.
She leaned back and looked out at the lake. “You,” she said. “That.” She pointed to my bulge. “That it’ll … hurt.”
“Oh,” I said quietly.
“I mean, it’s big. Bigger than I … I’ve seen pictures, you know, on the net.” She turned beet-red. “And … and you’re bigger than the … in the pictures, those guys aren’t as…”
“You’ve never even seen mine,” I said.
“No, but … you know. Your cycling shorts.”
“Oh. Right,” I nodded. She’d seen me in them a few times by then.
“And … at swim practice, you … you fill things out.”
“Yeah,” I said. The Speedos were pretty skimpy, especially on me. I was fairly big, bigger than the others, I knew, but until right then it hadn’t really seemed like a problem. Sort of like how winning the lottery doesn’t sound so bad until you realize how much tougher your life would be handling all that money, with people hassling you all the time for a little handout, just a few thousand so they can make ends meet; or a couple grand so you can get in on the ground floor of a can’t-miss business opportunity — and charities calling you all the time, telling you about how some starving kid in the Sudan needs your help, and how it costs just a nickel a day to bring so much hope to a needy family, and … and after a while that jackpot doesn’t look so good any more.
Sometimes my dick was like that, I saw, a liability instead of an asset. It did get in the way, and it could be pretty fucking embarrassing, and here was Jeanette telling me now that she was afraid of it, afraid maybe that if I ever had sex with her I’d — I don’t know, rip her in half or something.
“I — it just scares me sometimes, Paul. I’m sorry.”
I nodded again and gave up; I wouldn’t be seeing Jeanette’s pussy today. I sighed, resigned, and handed her the bikini top. She took it with a grateful smile and began putting it back on. I stared sadly at her breasts, losing sight of flesh I’d seen far too briefly and, I was sure, was not likely to see again soon, possibly not at all.
They were beautiful, really beautiful, the aureolae lovely rings of crimson about nipples that all but jumped for attention, and I’d been avidly kissing the left one and stroking the right, her hand on the raging hard shaft of my cock through my swim trunks, when she’d brought everything to a halt.
We got up and started heading back. “There’re other ways we could be together,” I said.
“I know,” she nodded. “But … that wouldn’t be enough.”
“It might,” I said.
“For me, I mean,” she said. “I’d want … to do it all with you, Paul, all of it.”
Hello, Mr. Dick, I sighed inwardly. Expected you to be popping up again…
Hey, Paulie, my dick said. We goin’ in?
False alarm again, I told it. Just that brain fuckin’ with both of us. Back to sleep, my nine-inch friend, back to sleep.
All right, my dick grumped. But you owe me, motherfucker.
“Oh,” I said to Jeanette.
We stopped at her door and she put her arms around me and we kissed. “I’m sorry,” she said again after it broke.
“Can I come in for a while?”
She colored. “I don’t think that would be a good idea right now,” she said quietly.
“Yeah,” I murmured, “maybe not.”
She kissed me again. “I’m so — oh, ohh … will you call me tomorrow? Please?”
“Yeah,” I said, and left, walking as well as I could with a swollen pair of nuts — felt like I was carrying a couple of Bartlett pears around in there — and seminal vesicles gone too full, as usual, for comfort.
* * *
Sometimes a boy needs to come. Sometimes he just can’t help it, and that was the state I was in when I got home. I knew I would be stroking furiously within the next few minutes and coming just seconds after it began, thinking of Jeanette, of her amazing tits, of her voice as she said I’d want to do it all with you, Paul. What it would be like to give her a nice pearl necklace.
Making my way to my room I caught a flash of motion from Mom’s. Her door was partway open and I saw her in there and halted, wanting not to look but unable to turn my eyes away.
She was standing in front of her mirror, pressing at her chest, and I realized after a moment what was happening. It was one of those breast self-exams women are supposed to do once a month or whenever, looking for tumors.
She must have just got out of the shower, because there was a towel on the floor at her feet and her hair was damp.
And she was naked.
I’d never seen Mom naked before, not that I could remember, and it took my breath away.
Her breasts were perfect, firm and well-shaped hemispheres, a creamy shade offset by chocolate-colored aureolae. Her torso was toned, firm and lean and tight, a nice hourglass shape as her hips flared, and her ass was … it was every horny boy’s ultimate fantasy ass, smooth and sleek and succulent, ripe and inviting.
Her feet were spread slightly as she concentrated on her exam and I could make out a dark mound between her legs and my dick almost exploded in my shorts when I realized what I was seeing: The very thing Jeanette had not wanted me near.
I hadn’t known it was low like that, so low you could see it from behind when a woman was standing upright. I’d always thought it was more up front, like my cock most undeniably was right at that moment.
I was looking at Mom’s pussy.
From the front, in the mirror, her bush was a thin strip of curly blond-brown hairs that glistened in the light. Oh wow, I thought, Mom shaves it. And from behind that gentle golden tufting was still visible, the hairs all pointing inward like they’d been … combed, or groomed, and they shrouded something that was the color of her untanned flesh in places but darkened nearer a center that was … it had a seam.
Those are her labia, I understood. It’s all right in there. Everything that makes Mom a woman is in there, behind those closed folds. Inside there is her vagina, her womb. In there I gestated, from there I was born. When she has sex, that’s where the man’s penis goes, that’s where his semen goes.
She really was hot, I realized.
’Bout time, my dick whispered.
She was examining more than her breasts now, I saw, looking over her body critically, and I wondered what she saw in herself, what she saw when she looked at herself like that. I know that when I’m in front of a mirror what I normally see is places where I need work, other places where things are doing okay, like how I could stand maybe to work on my lats a little more but my abs were coming along nicely.
She seemed to be thinking, frowning a little, and I couldn’t imagine why, because she had the leanest, tightest body I’d ever seen except on some of the girls on the school’s swim team. She was even in better shape than Jeanette, and her tits were nicer too.
So what the fuck would she be frowning about?
Her hands were moving over herself, across her belly, back around her hips, over the smooth curves of her ass, and oh holy righteous fuck her fingers slipped over her bush, oh fuck yes they slid down and opened what started as a tiny slit, a little mouth, and a finger slipped inside and she sighed and her other hand went up to her tits and was working her nipples as her fingers slid into her groove and she parted her legs a little more and moaned, staring at herself in the mirror, and I stared too and watched her, watched my mother masturbate to her own reflection, and I put my hand down my shorts, on my cock, jacking off where I was standing, knowing that if she turned around right then she’d see me, see everything I was doing, know I’d seen her, know what was going through my perverted teenage-boy mind. And then, and then maybe, maybe she would … would… She’d fucked Brett … It wasn’t like it was totally unprecedented … and she was obviously horny…
It was over in moments. I gushed across my hand, pumping mightily where I stood, barely able to stay on my feet, lips jammed together to keep silent. Cum flowed like a river and filled my shorts with hot, thick fluid. I couldn’t believe how much I was shooting. It had to be more than in the bathroom that time, I was sure of it.
Spasms took me and took me, but finally the orgasm was over and I withdrew my hand, studying it. It was gleaming, soaked from halfway up my forearm to my fingernails, like a glove made of pearly spunk.
I blinked, dazed, actually made dizzy by the physical force of the climax, and went to my room.
Jeanette, her tits, my earlier fantasies about her had all been thrust from my mind by the vision of Mom, naked, masturbating.
A few minutes later, lying on my back and already doing round two, thinking terrible guilty thoughts of a narrow blond strip of pubic hair and a pussy that I’d been in once before, I heard Mom gasp and whimper down the hall. She’s having an orgasm, I realized. We’re masturbating at the same time, and Mom just had her orgasm. It set me off again, cum launching itself from my tip in a thick frothy wave.
That time the drops landed on my face.
* * *
“The picture looks good,” Mom said, handing me back the little plastic card.
“Thanks, Mom,” I said, pretending not to be excited.
“So where do you think you’ll lose your virginity?”
“First drive?” Mom looked amused.
“Uh,” I stammered. “Um. Oh. I dunno really.”
She peered at me. “Oh God, Paul, I’m sorry, that was a joke. You haven’t … I didn’t mean to … But you and Jeanette…”
“We … no,” I said, ears surging with blood.
“I’m sorry,” Mom said again. “I hope nothing’s … wrong.”
“No,” I said, “she just wants to…”
“Yeah,” I nodded.
“So she’s also…”
The silence was awkward.
“Well, so how do you want to celebrate?”
Those images I told you about before? Yep, again. I was getting pretty used to them by then, but I still got the most amazing rod as I imagined my mother looking up at me, my dick in her mouth, humming happy birthday to you while she gave me head.
It had been earlier in the week, actually, but I’d made sixteen in one piece, aching balls and perverted ideas aside, and had got my license just that morning, a Saturday. And now that I could drive unsupervised, I had no fucking idea where I’d go, or who with.
Jeanette and I were cooling off. We both knew it but neither of us had really said so just yet. We still hung out and talked, still held hands and hugged and kissed, but after that frustrating day at the lake we didn’t really push any more. I didn’t try to get close to her and she didn’t lead me on.
It was better, and it was worse, and it did nothing at all for my horniness. I was so desperate to get laid I’d even thought about trying to find a hooker or something, but I didn’t think I would.
Because the truth was that Jeanette was right; I wanted my first time to be with someone very special to me as well. But right then I didn’t want to admit to myself who that someone was.
I have no idea,” I said.
“I do,” Mom answered.
* * *
Well, it was maybe a little corny, but it was cool too. At first no one noticed, or at least they pretended not to, and I kept it cool and nonchalant until Jerry, this fortysomething lawyer who’d tried getting somewhere with Mom a while back and failed (after Dad’s maneuvers she was not enamored of lawyers as a species), said, “Hey, Paul, was that you driving?”
“Licensed!” I crowed, pumping an arm at the sky.
And then everyone else in the century club was ooing and ahhing about me, and my license got passed around and laughed at — the pictures are always so excruciatingly goofy — and a good time was had by all and sundry, and then we mounted and rode.
Oh stop smirking.
I drove us back that afternoon too.
* * *
So this is the part where the web comes in.
I sparked up IE after we got in Saturday afternoon, showered off but in boxer briefs this time, originally having it in mind to check out some used-car pages. I used to think guys who did that were goofy as fuck-all but, possessing my own chit and with the prospects of summer employment — there were parks and rec programs that always needed coaches or instructors, and I was finally old enough to work part-time — I understood better. I was bitten by the first-car bug.
It was nowhere near as persistently annoying as the first-sex bug, at least, and the way things were going right then it looked like I would be taking care of the car thing much sooner than the sex.
I surfed a while while Mom’s shower ran, hitting ratings and recommendation sites, taking down the names of URLs I could hit later. Must have spent a good hour on that alone. I was vaguely aware of Mom doing stuff in the yard.
After a while I had a fairly good idea about what I wanted — it was unattainable, of course, but I could dream — and started targeting web pages that belonged to groups selling Mini Coopers.
Hey, I don’t need the phallic symbol, right?
Anyway I started typing in the URL for motorspecials.com and IE’s bar popped up like always, trying to autocomplete from its history, and I stopped at one of the names listed.
What the fuck is that?
I clicked it and the browser loaded the entry page, and what the URL had suggested by its name was, as near as I could tell, what was actually there on the site.
And the page had a little green bar at the top that read, calmly:
Cookie authenticated. Welcome back, PaulsMom_luvs_2_ride
* * *
My fingers were cold and I was shaking, my heart tripping in my throat, as I surfed the site. It was a pay site, and the only way it could be loaded was by login. Mom had set it up with a cookie so she wouldn’t have to remember the password every time.
No big deal. Millions of people do that.
But not every one of them is a mother, looking at pictures of mother-son incest, whose teenage son also uses the same computer.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Hundreds of pictures of people fucking, and I could tell — I could tell — they were all … family. Mothers and sons. All ages, some old and fat, some young, like me, only I guess at least eighteen in order to keep from getting nailed for kiddy porn.
How long had she been coming to this site?
And … did it mean anything?
I went to the Favorites menu. Nothing there, no bookmarks that pointed to this — or any other — porn site.
No easy way to know, then, if she’d…
Wait. I opened a new window and Googled “mother son incest”, and a page full of links came up.
A lot of them were purple, not blue.
Visited links, then. She had been going to other incest sites.
Was she trying to figure out how to … handle the hardon of mine she’d seen? Was she looking for advice on how to get her horny son to stop thinking of her?
Returning to mothersonincest.com, I doubted it. This wasn’t a support site. It was porn.
There were movies too, and I watched a few. Most were grainy video capped to MPEG, all clearly amateur. But they were as authentic — as far as I could tell — as the still pictures. Some loaded right away while others took time to download first.
So she’d been watching them; the fast-loaders were running out of the browser’s cache. They’d been viewed before.
They all featured trim, athletic looking couples.
Like how we might look, she and I.
What surprised me was not that there was this kind of stuff online. You’d have to be a pretty dim flashlight not to know the net’s flooded with almost every kind of sex you can imagine, and some you can’t.
I also wasn’t as surprised as you might think about how … common it looked. Like maybe a lot of people did it. Hundreds, maybe, or even thousands.
No, what surprised me was my implacable hardon as I realized that Mom might be thinking the same things about me that I’d been thinking of her. That maybe, just maybe, she wanted to fuck her son as badly as her son wanted to fuck her.
* * *
It was pretty late that night when Mom tapped on my door. I was still mixed up about the web site I’d seen, the jumpy hot energy I felt every time I thought of it, and about how I’d jacked off twice since then, both times imagining having sex with her, and both times feeling, even after I came, that I wanted to, that I really wanted to have sex with Mom.
Those thoughts spiked low in me and I worked hard to play it nonchalant when I spoke. “Come in,” I said.
“Hey, Paul,” she said, hovering by the door.
“Nothing,” she said. “What’re you doing?”
“Reading.” I held up the Architectural Digest. (Truth. I like that kind of stuff.)
I glanced up and noticed she looked a little flushed, like she’d been running or something. “Anything wrong?”
“Mm,” she said.
“Well, my shoulder’s a little … it’s been acting up again.”
And then I noticed something else.
She had changed clothes, had chosen something very light and gauzy. Under the sheer white sundress, I could see … everything.
Not perfectly, not like it was cellophane, but vaguely, hints and shadows, dark circles where her aureolae were, a smudge for her navel, and a streak, a hint, for the strip of her pubic hair.
She had come into my bedroom in a thin white cotton sundress, and she was naked underneath it, and I dreaded and wanted what that could mean.
I set the magazine aside, sitting up to hide my boner, and gestured her to the mattress. She smiled gratefully and sat. I got onto my knees behind her and started rubbing at her neck. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “That’s good, Paul.”
“Where’s it sore?”
“Same place,” she said.
We were silent for a time and I looked at us in the mirror. It was funny. Weird I mean. We looked like one of those couples on Mom’s incest site, a mother and son getting ready to…
My undies pushed up. More, I mean.
Helpless to hide my hardon and not really wanting to, glad I was behind her, I concentrated on her shoulders, working to find the tight area.
“Nice, Paul,” she sighed. “You’ve always been really good to me.”
“Yeah, well,” I shrugged verbally.
“Truly. I appreciate it.” Her eyes opened and she looked at me in the mirror. “Since your dad left, sometimes I’ve felt … you know.”
“No,” I said through a mouth suddenly gone dry, “I don’t.”
“I think you do,” she said, and she leaned back against me, and I knew she felt it, because there was no way she could not. My penis was pressed against her back, raging, pulsing hard against her, and she settled against me, nestling between my bent knees, and put her hands onto mine, still mindlessly working at her shoulders, as if this was all still just about a back rub. “You know that … women have needs, as much as men do, or as … as teenaged boys.”
I stayed quiet. My cock was solid and it felt like my balls had gained ten pounds.
Mom reached up and pushed down the straps of her top, baring her shoulders to my hands. It could have been an innocent gesture, like any other time I’d given her a shoulder massage, only this time she wasn’t wearing a bra, and she was leaning back against my erection. Her nipples strained at the cloth that was only barely covering them now, and when my eyes caught hers again in the reflection, she smiled.
She knew. She knew what I’d just been looking at.
She knew everything.
“I know, Paul,” she said, an eerie echo of my thoughts. She sighed and settled on the mattress more, parting her knees. “I know what you were looking at today on the computer.”
My lips were cold and felt numb. “Oh?”
“Mm,” she said, and leaned back a little, and I looked in the mirror again and saw…
She wasn’t wearing any panties, and I saw.
My cock leapt at the vision. My mom’s pussy was half-open, the part I could see, and it looked shiny, like maybe it was wet.
I knew what it meant when a woman got wet.
Are we really about to fuck? I wondered, and my dick almost gushed at the thought. Am I getting ready to have sex with my mom?
“It’s all right, Paul. Look, I understand, really I do. You’re … curious. You’re young and healthy and you’ve got a good strong libido, and the only woman in reach is … me.” Her eyes caught mine again in the mirror. “You’ve never made love before, but you want to, and you want it to be right, to be special, to be something you’ll never regret as long as you live.”
“Yeah,” I nodded. my throat felt like it was made of cotton. “But…”
“What about Uncle Brett?”
“What about him?”
My hands had paused, all pretense of massaging gone now. “I thought you said … things were weird afterward.”
“They were,” she said, “until we made love again.”
I sat back on the bed. If I had been standing I might have fallen over. “Oh,” I said.
“We were lovers for nearly three years,” she went on. “Then I went off to college, and he got a life of his own as well, and … well, there’s no and.” She smiled. “It was good, all of it was good. Well, most of it. We had … there was some guilt, but the sex was … amazing.
I swallowed again. "Guilt?"
Her reflection nodded at mine. "The … problems we had, Paul, came not from us, but from how … others would have seen us if they’d known. We figured that out and dealt with it by just being there for one another, and it worked…” She looked worried suddenly. “I’m not … frightening you, am I?”
“No,” I quavered. “No.” Yes. I'm more turned on than I've ever been before in my life and this is scaring the living fuck out of me because I'm — I want it to stop and I don't.
“Good,” she said. "I just … wanted you to know about some of the issues Brett and I faced before…" She swallowed. “Paul, I’m going to give you a choice. I’ve been … noticing you for a while now, and I know you’ve been noticing me. That’s natural, and what we’re feeling right now, here in this bed, is natural too. And it can lead to something natural if we both want it too, but we both have to want it to.
“If you want me to stay here, in your room with you tonight, in your bed, just tell me to turn around. Okay?”
“Uh,” I managed, I think.
“Otherwise say I don’t have to turn around at all, and I’ll get up and leave.”
“What if … what if I say turn around? What’ll happen?”
Her reflection smiled softly at me. “We’ll make love, Paul.”
Set afire. The words set me on fire. We’ll make love. “Oh,” I breathed. “Oh.”
Mom. Strong, intelligent, funny. She loved me, and I loved her, and she was beautiful and very, very sexy. And she must have thought the same things about me.
She’d done it before, done incest before, with her brother, and said it was good. And she wanted my first time to be with someone I loved, and so did I.
What would happen if people knew? That would be it. We’d never be able to see each other again. But it couldn’t go on forever either, could it?
“What about … like ten years from now, Mom?”
“You mean, would we still be lovers?”
I nodded, the word — lovers — sending a thrill along my spine.
She sighed. “Probably not, son. It’ll really be your discretion. We’ll be lovers as long as you’re okay with it, and once you’re ready to move on, you will. Until then, we’ll be together as often as you like, and we’ll make love in whatever way you want.” She smiled again. “It would be your first real intimate relationship, and I’d want to give you as much guidance as I could. To make you feel safe, to make you feel ready to move out on your own and get other girls, other women, when you’re ready for them.”
She nodded. “Like Jeanette, or any other girl that catches your eye.”
“Wow,” I said. Vast vistas of sex opened before me, dazzling prospects of dozens of girls laid out and waiting for my cock. And Mom could be the one to start all that.
“So,” she said quietly, “do you want me to turn around, or leave?”
The word floated through my head, mysterious, challenging, scary.
Incestuous relations. I was thinking of making incestuous love with my mother.
But … but all those people on Mom’s pay site — they couldn’t have all turned out freaks, right?
I mean, it wasn’t just a bunch of crazy, dateless losers who did it; it couldn’t be. And it couldn’t have all been ignorant backwoods types with like three arms and two teeth or something.
I didn’t like the labels, the baggage that came with the word incest; but I did like the feelings I got when I thought about making love with Mom.
The question was would I be okay with knowing it was incest?
Well, I’d been fantasizing it for months by then — if that wasn’t enough to get me used to the idea, nothing would, short of actually doing it.
I took a breath. “Turn around, Mom,” I whispered.
* * *
She turned and caught sight immediately of my hardon. “Oh,” she said, “you’re bigger than I remember.”
“You … remember?”
“Of course,” she smiled, moving nearer to me, her knees brushing mine as she drew closer, putting her arms about my waist, pulling our bodies together as we knelt on the bed. “That day when your leg cramped. What do you think I think about when I masturbate?”
“You — huh?”
“I know you were there that day, Paul,” she said, her face just inches from mine. I could smell her body, her sweat and something else, something I knew had to be musk, the scent of her sex. “I heard you come. You weren’t very quiet. And I saw you in the mirror with your hand in your shorts.”
I gulped. “Oh. Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she said. “I enjoyed the show as much as you did.”
And her face closed with mine, and her lips touched mine.
Jeanette, I had thought, was a good kisser, and in a way she was — but it wasn’t like this. She never kissed me like this. This kiss flared through me like molten steel, white-hot and burning me everywhere, as Mom’s lips parted a little and pressed mine, sucked at them, and she moaned. I opened my mouth and in a moment felt her tongue darting forward, little licks, inviting, and I moved mine in response, and the tips brushed, touched, tasted. I heard a groaning, bliss, delight, aching pleasure, and don’t know if it came from her or me. Or both of us.
Passion was surging in me and in her as well, passion of lust that had been suppressed for too long, forbidden desires welling hot and thick in both of us. A kiss of lovers, a kiss of raw sexual need, and it was mother and son sharing that illicit joy.
We’re going to make love, I thought. Mom and I are going to make love tonight, soon, right here in my bed. In just a few minutes we'll be naked. In just a few moments I will be within her body.
She nibbled my bottom lip a little, then withdrew and looked in my eyes. “Was that good, baby?”
“Yeah, Mom,” I said.
“Would you like to kiss me some more?”
“Yes,” I said.
As we kissed, her hands moved over me, circles starting at my waist that went up along my back to my shoulders, then down again until they were on my hips, around the front up my abs and over my chest, back down to my thighs, the cloth of my boxers tightened over my thrusting cock, around and up again so she was feeling my ass.
She kept doing that, kept caressing me like that, while we kissed, and then she broke it and leaned back to study me again. Her breath was high and quick, color reddening her cheeks, her body quivering. "Would you like to do more than kiss?"
She smiled, shy, tempting. "Like what?"
I gulped. “I … I want to…"
She leaned close, pressed her lips to my ear. Her breath was moist and hot as she hissed, "Say it, son."
I shuddered, lost in a spiral of lust that could not be denied, feeling the press of her nearly-nude body to mine, the heat of her coursing over and into me. "I want to make love with you.”
"Me too," she said, and began caressing me again, and I started moving my hands too, and she made little moans as I put my palms on her hips, as they slipped along and around to her amazing, perfect ass, and then up the front of her sundress to cup her breasts, warm under the light, thin fabric.
They felt even better than they looked, resilient and firm, just the right size, perfect. My thumbs rubbed her nipples through the cloth and she gasped, then pressed her body against mine. “Oh Paul,” she sighed, “do you know how long it’s been?”
“Since … oh. No.”
“Since before your father left,” she said. “I haven’t had a penis inside me in over six years, Paul.”
“Wow,” I said.
“It’s been longer for you,” she murmured, nibbling at my lips again.
“I don’t want a penis inside me,” I said, and she drew back to stare, and we both started laughing.
“I love you, son,” she said.
“I love you too, Mom,” I said.
Our mouths brushed again and the kisses were more steamy, more amazing, as Mom and I relaxed with each other, with what we were doing. It was okay. We understood now. It was okay. We were going to make love and it would be okay.
With any other woman, any girl, I would have been afraid, nervous, worried. But Mom loved me. She was just there to guide me, to make a man of me, to show me how to be a man with a woman. She wouldn’t make fun, and I knew I didn’t have to worry about disappointing her. I could come in seconds and she would still be okay with what happened.
At the rate things were going, that could be exactly how it ended up…
We continued kissing, and soon her hand was stroking my cock, reaching through the leg of my shorts. Her fingers were cool and firm, delicate and sure, and my dick jumped at her touch. It was amazing. She could have just done that to me and it would have been more than enough to satisfy me for a long time.
But it wouldn’t stop there; I knew it.
“Take off my dress, Paul,” she sighed against my lips. “Make me naked now.”
She’d taken her hand back before saying that; good, because I nearly shot my load when she spoke. My heart thrust in me harder than it ever had before as I caught the hem of her top and lifted. Her sundress slipped up along her torso and over her head, just like I’d envisioned that day, when I first got a hardon in front of Mom, and so many days after in sweaty and guilty fantasies. Only this time no panties followed; she was naked under the cloth and her body, Mom’s body, the body mine had come from, the body I could kiss and touch, could make love to however I wanted, left me without thought or speech. All I could do was stare for several moments, my heart slowing and then bursting in my chest.
“Do you like what you see, son?” she said.
I gulped and nodded.
“Touch me,” she whispered.
She smiled gently. “Anywhere, Paul. Anywhere you want, anywhere at all.”
I was panting.
She took my hands in hers and pressed them to her breasts. “Here,” she said, and moved to me, and we kissed. “And here,” she said into my mouth, guiding one of my palms lower, lower, and I felt the scratch of her hair, and I felt warmth and damp skin, and then I felt a slickness, a smoothness unlike any sensation I’d ever known before, and my cock went absolutely rigid again as I touched a pussy — Mom’s pussy — for the first time. “Oh God,” she groaned.
“God,” I said too. “Oh God Mom that feels so nice, oh God I love you so much, oh God I can’t believe this is really happening…”
She was talking as well. “Oh Paul, oh God Paul, oh yeah baby, oh yeah son, just like that, oh yeah, come on, push your finger in, oh fuck yeah Paul oh fuck push it in oh fuck yeah do it do it doooo iiiiit —”
Her mouth opened hungrily against mine as her body rocked and twitched in my arms as I gave my mother an orgasm, and she pulled herself against me and bucked her hips and came, and I felt my hand get much wetter, and then she got some control back and settled onto her knees again, but her hips were still moving and so were my fingers, inside her.
“Oh Paul,” she moaned. “Oh that was so good, son, thank you, oh Paul thank you so much…”
I kissed her, my own need only that much worse, because when Mom came I got so horny I leaked cum. Not precum; I know what that is. This was the actual stuff, and it soaked through my shorts.
She saw it. “Did you come?”
I shook my head. “Not yet,” I said. “That’s just … uh, overflow.”
"Oh." She kissed me. “I’m naked,” Mom said, “and you’re not.” She reached for my shirt’s hem. “We need to fix that, Paul.” I raised my arms and she lifted. The shirt joined her dress on the floor.
Her eyes widened. “Oh,” she said, “I haven’t really … noticed how completely you’ve filled out.” Her palms slid over my bare chest, circling my nipples, tight in their aureolae. The tingle went straight to my cock, followed by more as Mom leaned forward and started licking them, then sucking.
I hadn’t known you could to that to a guy and it would feel like it did. It was like her lips and tongue were on the tip of my cock, not on my chest, and it was fucking incredible. I gasped and she rose to kiss me some more. Her fingers, so sure, slipped into my waistband. They tickled and I shivered. “Time for these to go,” she said, snapping the elastic playfully.
Ardent, aflame with lust, I nodded and rose. She did the honors, carefully tugging the front clear of my rigid sex, and slipped the shorts off. I worked them the rest of the way down as she played with my dick, stroking it, hefting my balls. I settled back before her, as naked as she. “Fuck, Paul,” she said. “You’re huge.”
“Sure feels like it right now,” I said.
"My boy," she said. "My perfect lovely boy."
"Are you sure you want to go through with this?" She tugged gently, sending shudders of heat through my primed flesh. "Last chance, son."
I nodded. "Yeah."
She nodded too. "Okay."
She bent over me and I almost blew cum all over right then as she pressed her lips to the tip and kissed. “Oh Mom,” I sighed.
Her tongue slid along my shaft, rolled down over my balls. Back up again. Down, then back up, and I had to pull her back. “Mom — wait — wait.”
“Okay,” she said. “You don’t want to finish right this minute.”
“No,” I panted.
“You’ll have to come soon, son,” she said.
I nodded. She was right.
“But we have all night,” she smiled, moving near me, and pushed the tip of my cock against her labia, parted and wet. She had to raise up to do it; my dick was far too rigid to bend down to that angle. “We can make love again and again, until you’re empty and I’m full.” She rubbed my tip against her vulva, moistening me with her pussy, getting me slick, and ripples passed along my body at the feeling, at the sight of it, my penis just outside her vagina, the tip slick with her fluids, caught in the caressing embrace of her body.
“Wait,” I said. “I don’t have any … protection.”
She smiled. “I’m on the pill, Paul.”
“Oh,” I mumbled. “Uh, okay, but what about…”
“I know I don’t have any diseases,” she said gently, “and I’d be very surprised if…”
“Yeah,” I gasped, “okay, yeah, oh yeah Mom, do it, please do it.”
She put her hands on my shoulders, bracing herself, and looked directly into my eyes. "Okay," she said, and we kissed. "Here we go."
She slowly lowered onto my sex, began to take me within her body.
It was earth-stopping.
I’d never felt anything so silky smooth, so soft and firm, so warm and sweet as Mom’s pussy took in my cock. I slipped in, and in and in, and in more, and it was like my dick was growing with every inch I slid inside her warm wet cunt. The head was gliding along the channel, making way for the rest, and the shaft was wrapped and kissed, licked and sucked by her body, and then her thighs seated on my hips and she smiled down at me. “You’re inside,” she said. “You’re inside me, son.”
“Yes,” I panted. “Yeah.”
I nodded. “First time in a while.” I gulped, each motion of our bodies flaring bright agony in me, agony that begged for orgasm. “Years, it’s been…”
We shared a laugh. “You’re not a virgin any more,” she said, kissing me further.
I gasped. “No, Mom,” I said, “you took my virginity.”
“Paul,” she said.
“I love you.”
“I love you too, Mom.”
“I’m going to make love to you now, son,” she said. “We’ll make love until you have an orgasm inside me.”
We kissed and as we kissed she lifted, just a little, and settled back onto me. Lifted again, settled back. Up, down. Up, down.
Fucking me. Mom was fucking me.
Oh fuck, I was making love with my mother. We were making love together. I wasn’t thinking about incest any more; I was doing it.
I started moving too, lifting, nudging up and in a little as she came down, pulling back when she rose, and she gasped. “Good, Paul,” she said. “Yeah, baby.”
“I’m not gonna last, Mom,” I groaned, my thighs twitching, ass clenching.
“I know, son. It’s all right,” she said between kisses. “We can do it again. And again and again…”
I sucked her nipples as she arched her back, then looked down to see my cock disappearing inside my mom’s pussy. Every time she moved up the shaft glistened with her juices, and then she would slide back down along me and I’d get that sensation all over again of the head slipping along a tight, warm groove.
“You’re so deep in me,” she said, her motions long and slow. “So big…”
My heart was driving against my ribs and I was beginning to shudder. “Mom…”
She heard it in my voice and tilted my head back to kiss me, her hips beginning to rise and fall more quickly. “It’s okay, son. Do it. Come.”
“Ohhhh… I can’t hold on…”
Her speed increased. “Come in me, Paul, Come in my pussy.”
Her lips brushed my ear. “Come in mommy’s pussy, baby,” she whispered, and moved fast, very fast all of a sudden, thrusting herself against me rapidly, and light burst in me.
The explosion of my first lovemaking, the first orgasm ever given to me by anyone else, was tremendous. My dick raged, throbbing, erupting, and she rocked over me, fast, milking my cock with her cunt, sucking the cum out of me, urging me with each pump to pump more. I came and I came, and I came again and came some more, and I groaned and I yelled and I came more, and she gasped and panted and screamed I’m coming, Paul, I’m coming on your cock, and she came too, and the clench of muscles in her pussy grabbed my dick and squeezed, stroked, and I came even harder, vanishing in the heat of the sex, the orgasm destroying me and any sense I had of where I ended and she began, and I leaned back and howled at the ceiling and she screamed, she screamed as we came together, as my semen filled her, a son's sex pulsing in his mother's flesh, and our bodies slowed their urgent thrusts, their frantic twitchings, and at last we eased into one another’s arms again, settling into an embrace, still coupled, still making love, mother and son embraced and dewy with the sweat of it. I felt the cum I had shot into Mom’s pussy settling around my cock and she smiled at me and we kissed.
“Oh Paul,” she said.
“Oh God, Mom,” I almost whimpered. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” Tears filled my eyes, tears of gratitude, of joy, of love. “Oh Mom I love you so much.”
She kissed my tears away, my mother, my lover, and smiled. “I know,” she said. “I know.”
* * *
I woke in the morning with Mom nestled against me, both of us naked, my pubic hair matted and crusted with dried fluids from the sex.
Warm with memories and very good feelings — we had made love twice more last night before sleep finally took us — I lay there and held her, my cock already stiff.
I was lying in bed naked with my mother, the woman who had given me life, and I had made love with her three times the night before, and I knew we were going to make love again soon.
She stirred against me, then turned, twisting in my arms, to face me. “Morning, son,” she said.
We kissed, a good kiss, a long kiss. “Hi, Mom,” I whispered.
“Better than ever before,” I nodded. “How about you?”
“Mm,” she said, smiling and stretching, her sexy lithe body magnificent to see. “Yeah,” she sighed, turning to face me fully and nestling against me. “It was so good, not sleeping alone for a change," she said. "Sleeping with you. You made love so well last night, son. I enjoyed it so much.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I said. “Me too. It was … the best night I’ve ever had.”
Her pubic hair tickled where it brushed my dick and her body, soft and warm, was smooth against my skin. She reached down between us. “Who’s your friend?”
“Just some guy I know,” I shrugged.
“Seems like a stand-up kind of guy,” she said, stroking gently.
“Yeah, but living with him can be hard.”
She kissed me. “Well we’ll have to see what we can do about that.” She lifted her thigh across my hip and edged forward, and I felt myself slide into her.
I hadn’t known you could do it like that, lying on your side. It was different from any of the times last night; after the first I was on top, doing what Greg called the horny push-ups, and the third time Mom had been the one riding me as I lay on my back, her breasts in my hands, and came massively inside her.
We stared into each other’s eyes, the morning’s light just casting a soft golden glow around us, and smiled as we made love together, side-by-side and face-to-face. We kissed, we tasted, we drank at each other’s mouths, and I managed to last a lot longer than I had the first time, and I think I did it better than I had the second. We made love like that for maybe fifteen minutes and Mom came on my cock five times before I came too, filling her womb with my sperm, my penis completely within her, right up to my root.
We lay together for a long time afterward, my dick still inside her sweet, warm pussy, and kissed and held each other and smiled. After a while I was soft enough to start sliding out of her and she backed off, and I heard a wet pop as my dick slipped into the open air once more. She smiled. “That was nice, son,” she said.
“Yeah, Mom,” I said. “Thanks.”
“Any time.” And I knew she meant it.
We got up and into the shower together, washing each other, and I got hard again and she got on her knees in front of me, licked me like she had last night, and started giving me head.
It was unbelievable. It felt so good, standing there in the shower, naked and with warm water rolling down my skin, while Mom worked my cock with her tongue and lips, licking, kissing and sucking — especially sucking.
“Oh,” I said, “oh Mom — it’s coming soon.”
She kept sucking at my cock.
“If you keep going I’m gonna come,” I said. My breath was getting short and my knees were starting to shake.
She kept on licking and sucking, slurping noises coming out sometimes, as one hand worked my root, cupping my balls, the other hand grabbing at my ass.
“Mom — I’m gonna come in your mouth, Mom…”
She kept sucking, hefted my balls, rolled them around, and I understood. She wanted it. She wanted me to come in her mouth.
That did it. “Mom … Mom … I’m coming —”
I rocked forward, thrusting, surging, and she kept sucking, started gulping as my cum shot from my body, out of my cock and across her tongue, into her mouth, down her throat. I heard her swallowing as the throb of my dick eased and knew all my cum had made it inside, that it was in her stomach now like the rest of it was deep in her belly. Mom was full of my cum.
She stood up and we kissed, and it tasted like cum, but I didn’t care. I felt totally warm, completely at rest, satisfied like I never had been before. “Oh God, Mom,” I said. “That was so good…”
It was, Paul,” she smiled. “Your cum’s delicious.” She smacked her lips.
I kissed her again. “Can I taste yours?”
“Yes, baby,” she said, “but not now. We don’t have time now. It’ll have to be tonight after we get home.”
“Okay,” I said, disappointed, but a little relieved too. She had drained me totally and I wanted to do it when I had some sauce, because after I ate her I wanted to spray all over her cunt and watch the cum roll down into it.
What was cool about that was I knew I could do it. Mom had promised to let all my fantasies with her come true.
We got out of the shower, dried each other off, and then got dressed. At the door we kissed good-bye — a real kiss, a long kiss, like lovers, not one of those stupid ones — and we went to our days.
* * *
All through school I kept thinking back to what had happened in the night, again that morning. The lovely naked body pressed to mine, the sweet warmth as that hot smooth sex engulfed me, the astounding release every time I came, my semen flowing directly into her intimate, naked flesh from my own, nothing at all between us, her belly filled with her son’s seed.
And she wanted it, she wanted my penis, she wanted my body, she wanted my cum.
I had a lover, I realized over and over again, marveling. One I could trust, one who would indulge me, one who desired me openly, entirely.
I looked around at my classmates and wondered if any of them knew what making love with the perfect woman was like. Wondered if any of them had ever harbored lusts for incest. Wondered if any of them had done it.
A lover, an actual lover. And she’d been in reach for so long.
But I didn’t regret the delay. We couldn’t have made love a day sooner, I think, because we both had to be ready, we each had to know the other was ready.
All that thinking put me in a mood for sex, made me really horny, as all through the day I imagined Mom’s cunt, how good it looked, how good it smelled, how good it felt when my cock was inside it; and I wanted to know what it would taste like when I finally got a tongueful of it, how it would feel to have Mom coming on my face.
* * *
I woke to the press of lips to my ear and turned to face the body above mine. “Hi, Mom,” I smiled.
“Hi son,” she said, looking along me. “You’re quite a sight to come home to.”
I stretched. “Thanks.” I settled back on the bed — her bed — and we kissed. “I was waiting for you,” I said, “and I guess I fell asleep.”
“I can see that,” she smiled.
I’d planned to be ready for her when she got home that evening, wearing boxer briefs and nothing else, waiting to massage her shoulders and then make love with her. But even though I’d dozed off she didn’t seem too disappointed. Her hand found my dick and caressed it gently through the tight cotton. “I’ve always liked you in these,” she murmured.
My heart skipped. “Yeah?”
“Mm-hmm,” she said. “Your body’s so sexy, Paul, and your cock is huge. When you wear these, or regular briefs, or your Speedos, all I can think of is how hot you look, how the shape of your dick is perfect, how you fill the tight cloth with your big balls and your rock-hard little ass.”
“Me too,” I said. “I mean I love you in the Spandex, Mom. I can see the shape of your pussy, I can see your butt perfectly, and…” I finally confessed. “Well, I guess I’ve been wanting to … make love with you for a while.”
“Me too, son,” she said, and I sat up into her arms and we kissed more. “Is that why you go on the centuries with me?”
“Uh,” I said, “well, sort of … but mostly just because I like being with you.”
She smiled and gave me a great kiss. “Me too, Paul.”
“We’re really good lovers for each other, aren’t we?” I murmured.
“Yeah, we are,” she said. “It’s better with you than it ever was with anyone else.”
“Even Uncle Brett?” I teased.
“Even him,” she said seriously, and my dick throbbed up into my shorts and the tip poked out over the waist. She saw it and looked into my eyes, smiling and shining a love at me that I’d never known could even exist.
I gave her the massage, and her clothes came off and then my briefs did, and I finally kissed down her naked body, licking along her stomach until my nose was probing her shaved strip of bush. It was musky and scratchy and my cock thumped up as I went deeper and she parted her thighs to make room for me, then rocked her hips up, offering her gleaming wet pussy to me.
I looked at it, into it, her sex, the place where, sixteen years ago, I had emerged, where I’d been returning again and again for the last twenty-four hours in my mind and in person. Her labia were glinting and open, showing me her inner anatomy, the arch of her clit glistening with fluids. Under, her vulva shone pink, its labia a brown color that matched her aureolae, and I pressed it with my fingers and she shuddered and sighed.
She let me explore, let me take my time, and I opened her pussy to get a look inside, probing, sniffing, licking, kissing, tasting. My fingers slid in and my tongue lapped at her juices, flowing smoothly through her cunt, and they were salty and tangy but not bad.
No. They were good. I liked my mom’s pussy juice.
I kept licking, playing, and then nestled my face against her pussy and started sliding my tongue in and out, fucking her with it, my cock standing firm under my hips and belly, pressing the mattress.
She shuddered and started grinding her cunt against my face, her hips shifting up and down, and then she put her hands on the back of my head and pressed, jamming herself against me, and she gave a series of high, breathy little gasps, pants that were almost squeaks, and then she cried out long and high, calling my name, and surged her pussy up, thrusting it onto my mouth. I felt a gush of fluids, tasted them, drank them greedily, lapping at her stream. My mom was coming on my face. I was drinking her cum right from her pussy, and she was coming on my face.
I was solid against the bed and crawled up over her, rubbing the shaft of my cock against the glistening groove of Mom’s pussy. She looked down to watch, smiling, as my hips moved over her. She lay there while I stroked myself on her cunt, masturbating against her body, and I backed up and stroked the tip, swollen and purple and shiny, against her spread labia, wriggled it around, nudged her clit with it. Precum leaked from me and into her pussy and I got so hard looking at that.
“Do it,” she said. “Come on, Paul, don’t make me wait any longer for your cum. Fuck me, son. Fuck me right now, boy.”
Good and wet now with Mom’s fluids, I slipped into her up to my hair and she groaned, quivered, and I fucked her, fucked her slow and deep and long, and before I came I pulled out and her pussy was still open from my cock, and I pulsed and shot my goo all over her, some of it into her, thick beads of it in her bush, ropes of it falling over her labia, over her open cunt, her pussy dripping with my cum. But it wasn’t just on her pussy; some of it made it as far as her tits.
We smiled at the mess my spunk had made. A naughty boy coming on his mother.
I plunged back inside and kept fucking her, pushing my sperm into her, and she writhed under me, bit the edge of her hand, and screamed, coming hugely, her legs wrapped tight around my hips, her cum-soaked pussy clenching on my re-hardened cock, her tongue jabbing into my mouth with her orgasmic bursts. I slowed when I felt her frenzy pass, then settled against her, letting my dick slowly go soft again. I wanted to keep fucking her but I needed some time to recharge first.
She smiled when it was done and looked over my shoulder, into the mirror over the bed, where she could see herself lying on her back, her arms around me, naked, where we lay making love together. “Nice, lover,” she said.
I moved to lie beside her, looking at us in the reflection, and we held hands and kissed and lay, mother and son bared to one another fully, and regarded ourselves, the couple we were, the incestuous romance we’d entered and its results, wrought visibly on our gleaming skin. Her pussy was dark and shiny, glistening with our combined cum, and my cock, half-soft now, also glinted.
“Such a handsome boy,” she murmured. “My boy is so handsome.”
“You’re the most beautiful woman ever,” I told her. “You’re completely perfect.”
Her breasts lay on her chest, glorious and firm, and her hair made a golden halo on her pillow. My muscles and hers stood out under our skin, our abdominals rippling, our quads and shins toned and tight, my chest wide and cleft, my biceps solid.
“I love you, son,” she said to me, smiling up at us.
“I love you too, Mom,” I smiled back, and our eyes closed, and we slept, a satisfied couple, a pair, lovers.
* * *
She was so perfect, so beautiful, so wonderful. And she was mine, my lover, and I could be with her however I wanted to be.
And it was because of her Web site, the pages she looked at, that —
No, it wasn’t the pages; it was us. But the pages helped.
I studied her, bare and lovely, as she slept quietly. Such lovely skin, so warm and smooth, downy hairs on her shoulders, thickening a little on her forearms. Velvety pubic hair that grew around, concealed, pointed to her lovely font of womanhood. Lovely breasts, streaked with dried semen, what had come from me earlier when I’d pulled out to shoot over her. To watch myself coming on her, to let her see me in orgasm.
She stirred next to me and woke, and we kissed. “Hi,” I said.
“Hi, Paul,” she smiled.
“Mm-hmm,” she said, stretching as I lay on my side, propped up on an elbow, and loved how she looked as she stretched, how she was just like a cat, lean and muscular and flexible, her body so tight. Her muff glinted a little, still wet in places from our cum.
As her back relaxed from the arch it had made over the mattress I rested my palm on her stomach, moving my hand in slow circles, just … feeling her.
She put her hand on top of mine and let me look, let me study her naked body and not feel ashamed.
What was there to be ashamed of? I loved her and she knew how I felt. We were lovers; we had been for a day already.
We kissed, a slow, long kiss that mothers and sons didn’t usually share. “So tell me about mothersonincest.com.”
She blushed a little. “What do you want to know?”
“When did you sign on?”
She thought. “About two years ago, now.”
“Wow,” I said.
“Well,” she shrugged, “you’d been … growing, and I noticed, and … maybe it was because of Brett, what happened with him and me, or maybe it was … maybe what happened back then was because I just … have this urge in me to love the men in my family.”
I felt strange at that. “Uh. Anyone … else?”
She shook her head. “Just Brett.” Kissed me. “And you, of course.”
“Oh,” I nodded. “Okay.”
“So anyway I wanted to … explore it a little, I guess, and I got … hooked.”
I smirked. “I could see why.”
“You … what did you see?”
“Pictures,” I said, “movies.”
“Yeah,” she nodded. “Did you go into the boards?”
She sat up, tugged me upright too. “Come with me,” she said, “I’ll show you.”
Naked, we went down the hall together to the living room, to the computer.
* * *
“That’s a lot of incest,” I said, looking at the posts.
She nodded. “I don’t think everyone here has … well, I know some have, and some have thought about it, but I think a lot of this is people … just wanting to feel sexy, and this is how they do it.”
“Well, I feel sexy,” I said, and she chuckled.
It was a posting forum and it was full of threads, dozens of them, hundreds of messages, some claiming to be from sons fucking mothers, some from mothers fucking their sons, some from people wanting to talk about it, some wanting to understand. Fantasies, desires, hopes, and, some, histories. But something was missing and after a moment I worked it out. “Where’s the noise?” I said, puzzled.
“Yeah,” I said, caressing Mom’s breast and nibbling her ear. She was sitting on my lap in the chair, facing away from me. “The posts from the haters, you know, ‘you people are all sick pervs,’ stuff like that.”
“Oh,” she said. “Well, I don’t know, son. It is a pay site though…”
“Oh yeah,” I said. That made sense. No one would want to pay just to get on and yell at others, and probably the people who ran the site took those postings down, if any ever got made.
“You’ve read the posts here?”
“I’ve posted,” she said after a moment.
I felt a tingle. “About us?”
She nodded, took the mouse. “Here,” she said, and clicked.
Subject: Paul’s Legs
They’re incredible, really amazing. You should see my son’s legs, how powerful they are, how strong.
They’re long and tanned, and his hair has grown in on them, darkening them a little, but he’s blond like me, so not too much. It looks kind of like thick peach fuzz, and his muscles show perfectly.
His triathlete’s body is always on my mind lately, how wide his shoulders are now, how narrow his hips, and his tight cute little butt and the size of his dick in those Spandex shorts — but mostly it’s his legs I can’t stop thinking of, how muscular they are, and how it would be for him to fuck me, to stand me against the wall in the shower and fuck me where he stood, those big strong legs of his lifting me right off my feet while he came in my pussy.
God, I want him to fuck me so bad sometimes, my pussy just gets soaked. When he’s at a meet and I see him running I watch how he moves, and I get so wet sitting there. Or when he’s swimming, those little Speedos just make me want to do him right there on the platform, where everyone could see us, where everyone could watch as Paul fucks my brains out. And when we’re on a century and he gets ahead of me and he’s pumping hard I can see his glutes move, and his tight young ass bobs back and forth over his saddle and I just want to grab on and let him ride me like I’m his Trek.
I can imagine it when I try. And I don’t really even have to try any more, because it’s all I think about now. My son, my fifteen-year-old boy and his tight, perfect shapes. That sexy hot body, all muscles and strength and beautiful skin, that big and still-growing dick he carries around, that handsome face of his as he comes, all I can think of is Paul making love with me.
And I just know it would be the best sex I’ve ever had.
I was breathless, my heart pounding as I finished reading. She’d posted this almost a year ago, a little after my fifteenth birthday.
“Was it?” I said.
“It was, Paul. It was.” She kissed my fingers, placed them on her breasts. “It is.”
“Did you like what I wrote about you?”
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s hot.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want you to think I was … being too…”
“No, Mom, it’s fine,” I sighed, her body warm against mine, a little clinging where our skin, bare all over, touched. “What was the first thing you wrote?”
She turned red again. “Oh, I don’t know, Paul…”
“Come on,” I said, tweaking a nipple gently, letting my tongue glide around her ear. “Show me.”
She quivered. Swallowed. Purred. “All right,” she whispered.
Subject: On the Edge
Hi there. I’ve been lurking here for a couple months now, and I’ve been at other incest type sites before, but I never posted anything anywhere until today.
My son Paul is fourteen now. HIs voice dropped a while back and … well, he started *growing*, and not just there, but everywhere, and I caught myself looking at him sometimes, especially lately, a lot more lately.
It’s so hard not to, but I have a tough time feeling like this is *right* -- I mean, he’s my *son*. Wouldn’t it mess him up? Or am I more afraid that he’ll like it, maybe mroe than I do?
Sometimes I think I can’t be serious aobut this! And other times I see him when he gets out of the shower, and he’s wearing a towel around his hips and it’s low-slung, riding like a tool belt or a gunbelt, and he stands with a hip thrust out like he’s some kind of action hero, all male, and I can see from the rise in the cloth that he’s packing _at least_ six. And the water’s beaded all over his chest and stomach, and his skin is smooth and clear and it ripples with his puberty-hard muscles, and there are lovely tufts of hair under his arms that tell me his body is *there*, that it’s ready, that if I were to actually carry out any of the things I think about I’d have to be on the pill. And it would have to be the pill, no condoms -- I wouldn’t want _anything_ to come between us, I’d just want it to be his skin and mine, his body in mine. So when he came it would be in me.
I’m so wet. I want this, I really do, but I’m so afraid.
I think he’s looking at me too. Sometimes I catch himm glancing. I don’t mind. I’ve been giving him opportunities, but I don’t think it’s always on purpose. I’m flirting with my teenaged son!
Maybe someday I’ll peek in on him when he’s alone in his room, or in the bathroom. I can hear him masturbate sometimes. Maybe I’ll even let him watch me do it someday, see how he reacts.
He wears boxer briefs a lot and he looks great in them. They’re perfectly tight in just the right places, around his tight little rear -- all muscle, all of it, a smooth perfect curve of hard beefcake -- and around his penis, which is impressive and looks sort of like a torpedo when he’s at half-mast. And his testicles are much larger now than they had been a year ago, just like his dick, full and ripe, ready to be plucked.
He’s got a light line of hair trailing from his navel downward. It disappears into his shorts and someday it might be fun to follow that line, to see where it stops between his powerful, muscular thighs.
And his chest, getting bigger all the time, would be so good to rest my head on afterward, to listen to his heartbeat, the heart that had once been in me.
God, I am so fucked up about this. I know some would say we’d go to hell if we did it, but this is hell _right now_ -- being so near him all the time, wanting him so badly, but not being able to have him. Part of me keeps saying no, it would be a mistake … but the part that says yes is getting a little bigger, a little louder all the time, and unless something changes it, I think we really will end up in bed together someday, making love all night long.
The date showed the post as being almost two years old. “Wow, Mom,” I said. “That’s pretty sexy.”
“Yeah? You … like it?”
“I do,” I said, my arms settling around her hips. “I didn’t know you wanted me that long.”
“Were you … I mean, was I right about you too?”
“About me wanting you back then?” She nodded. She was leaning against me, her cheek alongside mine. I thought back and had to confess it. “Yeah.”
She read my surprise. “It snuck up on me too,” she laughed. “I didn’t really realize until after it had been there a while.”
I kissed her cheek. “I’m glad, though,” I said. “Glad we have these feelings.”
“Mm,” she murmured, “me too, Paul.”
My cock was up, rubbing against her pussy, pushing up between her legs, and she looked down and then back at me, and we grinned. She kissed me and shifted her hips up and I felt her fingers on my shaft, felt them press my head into the folds of her wet cunt, and she settled with a happy little sigh as I slid in, and I started rocking.
“Why not write something now?” I whispered. “About us?”
“Yeah?” she said. “Should I?”
“Sure,” I said. “Tell them. Tell them we made love. Tell them we’re making love right now, while you’re writing it.”
She nodded, then started typing, and I kept moving under her, fucking her, while she told her world about us, about our love, and she came first, and then I did, and when we were making love we must have got sloppy about the post, because this is what it said, typos and all:
Subject: Paul and Me
I’ve written about it so much. thought about it so often, especially since that day when Paul got the hard-on while I massaged that cramp, and it finally happened.
My son and I made love last night, I made love with my own son, and it was beautiful, it was so much more than I thought it would be, it was perfect.
His dick is so big, really huge, and it fills my pussy perfectly. It;s so nice to have him inside me again after sixteen years. He was a virgin until last night, I had my son’s virgin dick, he fucked me with his big heavy fresh new cock until his huge balls pumped gallons of jizz into me and I squished with his cum. His dick is so big that -- nine inches, he just told me, he’s reading this while I write it, fucking me and reading while I sit on his lap in the compuyter chair.
My son’s nine-inch cock is in my pussy. We are making love. He;s fucking me with over half a foot of dick *right now*.
When I came home this evening he was in my bed, wearing nothing but his tight little boxer briefs, and he gave me a massage and then hhe ate my pussy, and it was the best tongue-fuck I ever had. And then we made love and he came on me and I saw it, I saw it come out of him, and he dived right into me again when he was done, he was still hard, and he fucked me until I came too.
His dick is so big that when he comes I can feel it going right into my womb, his sperm all around inside me, where he used to be so long agao before he was born. And now he’s been putting his sperm into me for a day and it’s thge best, the vvery best feeling I ever had. It’s not sex, it’s not making love, it’s so much more than any of that. Oh God I love Paul so much, I love my son so much.
He found this site, looked around, figured out I visited. and we talked about it and it ended up with us going to bed together. We made love a lot last night, and then again today, and now we’re online together and he’s making love to me while I write this.
At work all day today I had Paul’s cum in me. I could feel my son’s cum in my pussy and all I could think about was how bad I wanted to get home and fuck him some more. So I did. My pussy was aching for his cock when I got in and he took care if it, took care of me. He’s so good to me.
And now I’m in his lap and his dick is in me again.
Paul’s dick is so huge I can feel it pushing way into my belly while he sits under me, fucking me, amd my cunt is dripping with juice. Not all of it’s mine. Paul makes a lot of cumm and he’s filled me with it for a day now. I’m goinf to become a big balloon full of Paul’s juice, I know it.
Oh god he’s rubbing my nipples, I love it when he does that, it’s so hot, oh yeah he’s licking my ear,. I can feel his dick going solid.
Oh fuck I think he’s going to come soon. I know I am.
HIs body is so strong, and he’s all musclke, and he’s tight and hot and full of cum, and I can’t hold it, oh shit I can’t hold it, my son paul is fucking meoh he’d fucking me right now, fking me deep and long and hard and itsssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss
That was it. “Must have hit ENTER,” she said. “That was when I came.”
“Shit, Mom,” I said. “Well, I guess they know about us now.” It was strange, saying that out loud; liberating. The other people who came to the site would see Mom’s post, and some wouldn’t believe it, but others would. They’d know that, out there somewhere, a mother and son had made love together. I stroked her breasts.
She turned all the way around. She can do things like that, you know; her body is really flexible. She just pulled a knee up to her chest and rotated on my cock, turning a perfect half-circle, pivoting over me.
Which was easy because I had gone hard again inside her, reading her sex post.
Her legs came down around my hips and she faced me in the chair, her hands on my chest and my arms around her tight little waist, and we rocked together for a half hour at least, taking our time, kissing and smiling and sighing, making love again. I know it took at least that long because her Web page had logged her out automatically sometime before we came.
That was the first time that happened to us, but it wouldn't be the last.
* * *
The century was over and we showered in the bathroom, made love under the spray, and then went out to dinner to celebrate.
It was our second anniversary. I’d turned eighteen a few days earlier and since we were now adults it would have been safer for us to be known.
We kept it secret, though.
I kept things in my old bedroom so no one would guess that I’d moved into Mom’s room. We slept together every night and made love every day. It was one of the happiest times of my life. Hers too, she said; I was a better lover to her, a better man, than my father had been, and as I lay in bed in what used to be his place, made love with what used to be his wife, my balls felt so big and heavy sometimes, like just being the man in Mom’s bed, in Mom’s life, was making me a bigger man every day.
It was definitely the most important sexual relationship I’ve ever had. My first, and still the best.
Mom was always very supportive of me, and she showed me so many different ways to make love. I’d thought the side-by-side position she showed me that first morning we woke together as lovers was novel; but she worked me through dozens of other ways.
And as the months progressed and we got better in bed, we started making videos for the web site, and that nearly wrecked everything — but that's another story.
It was good. It was all good.
We toasted one another (sparkling grape juice) over dinner. “To love,” I said.
Her eyes shone. “To love,” she agreed.
"You know you're the man in my life now," she said quietly.
"Yeah," I nodded. "And you're the woman in mine."
She stared at her hands, twisting her napkin. "Paul…"
I felt some concern. "Something wrong?"
She shrugged. "It's just that … our relationship is so satisfying, so wonderful, so fulfilling."
"And that's got you upset?" I patted her hands and they stopped their writhings.
"No, it's … well, someday you'll leave," she whispered.
"Yes," I said. "But not until we're both ready."
She nodded again, her face flushed. "There's something you can … there's a way I can be sure to be ready, when you do leave," she managed at last.
"Tell me," I said. "I'll do whatever it takes."
She chewed her lip, eyes troubled, and then looked at me. "Have you thought about … maybe having a little brother or sister?"
It took a few moments for what she was suggesting to sink in, but I wasn't fully caught off guard, and it was easy for me to answer her.
Because I had thought about it from time to time.
"You off the pill yet?"
"Yes," she confessed.
"Good," I said.
* * *
After we got home and got naked together (we almost never wear clothes at home any more so we can make love whenver we feel like it, which is all the time, unless we need the clothes as some kind of sex-game prop or company’s visiting), I looked at the computer, sitting in the corner, the machine whose software had let me take a plunge, do something I would never have had the courage to otherwise, the device whose window to a wider world had let me look fearlessly into my mother’s secret passion, and let me find an affirmative answer beating in my own breast.
She smiled at me, puzzled. “What’s on your mind, Paul?”
“I was just thinking,” I said, “about the site.” We still visited the mothersonincest.com page, posting stories about our lovemaking, reading others’, looking at pictures and movies, reading the fan letters we got for ours. We contributed hours of movies, but until a few days ago I had been too young for it to be legal, so we'd kept my age secret.
“Well,” I began, “I’m eighteen now…”
Mom smiled broadly. “A birthday party. Great, yeah, son. We’ll set it up tonight,” she said, “and edit the movie tomorrow. Okay, lover?”
I kissed her, my mother, the most lovely woman I had ever known. “Okay, lover,” I nodded. “Only … maybe we could set it up tomorrow instead?”
She grinned. “Can’t wait?”
“Not tonight,” I smiled, and we kissed, a sensual kiss, a kiss that ignited us, that stiffened me. "I think tonight we've got other things to do."
"Like get you started on being a father?" she said. Her hips were pressed against mine and I felt the moist heat of her at the root of my cock, felt her need, her lust, her desire.
Her womb. My semen would be in her womb; we would make love and I would come inside my mom. I would fill her body with my seed and she would become pregnant with our baby, the product of a sweet, beautiful thing between mother and child, woman and man, the most natural human joy in the world.
"Will you really, Paul? Will you … give me a child? Something just from you, just for me?"
"Yes," I said simply.
“Okay,” she sighed, happy and fulfilled. “Good. Thank you, son.” And she stroked my naked penis and I caressed her bare breasts, cupped her sweet, juicy pussy in my hand, and we went down the hall to our bedroom to celebrate our anniversary as a couple should, making love together until dawn.
* * *
By the time the day broke my semen had taken hold; Mom was pregnant with my brother, our son.