Editor's note: this story contains scenes of incest or incest content.
I had always heard horror stories from my friends about their recently divorced parents. In their new found freedom, the parents would get a little wild, doing things that they had not been able to do since they had first gotten married. They left their kids home alone. They went on and partied. They even had promiscuous sex lives. But that wasn’t my family I was sure. That would never happen to us.
Until my seventeenth year, I was positive that was the truth. I would never have to go through that. Up until then we had the picture perfect family. My dad worked hard to support us, sometimes fifty or sixty hours a week. My mom stayed home and kept the house up, raised me and made sure I had all I needed. We lived in a nice quaint three bedroom home in the country, just outside of the city and I thought that we had it made. For a seventeen year-old boy, I had it all; I had it made.
Then my bastard of a father walked out on us. I had been so intent on my own needs and my own growing up that I had ignored all the warning signs, or refused to believe them. Perhaps I was just a little naïve. Evidently his devoted fifty or sixty hour work weeks that I was sure he was having were actually sexual indiscretions with his secretary and lover. My mother told me afterward that she knew and that she had accepted it. My father had promised her that he would stay until I was out of high school, bit after that he was leaving. I never would have believed it if someone had told me that would happen to me.
So instead of my dreams of going away to the State University, I decided on a two-plus-two program at the local community college so I could stay home. The next three years were hard for me. Adjusting to a life without a father figure and being the man of the house was hard on me. I was taking maximum credit hours while working part-time to support my mom and I. she still worked a full time job and did the best that she could, but she came to depend on me more and more. It was like from age seventeen to eighteen, I had to turn to into an instant adult with no training or learning period. Who could I learn from? My father? I wanted nothing to do with the bastard after he had abandoned us.
Now my mother, named Deborah, was a fine looking woman. Why my father ever felt the need to cheat on her was beyond me. Even at her age, she had a knockout figure. She looked very traditionally beautiful, the type of woman that was not appreciated anymore. She was petite at five-foot two and maybe one-hundred and twenty five pounds, with a nice slender waist and womanly hips that flared just right with curves in all the right places. Her breasts were a little larger than was the norm anymore but they still appeared firm and well kept.
Her best features though were her hair and face. Her hair was jet black, smooth and straight that ran to the middle of her back. Her skin was flawless and fair-complected without a blemish that I could see. I only hoped that the woman that I would end up with was as beautiful as she was. Mom had a million dollar smile with perfectly white teeth and eyes that were deep blue and seemed to dance whenever she smiled. As far as I was concerned, she was the most gorgeous woman that I had ever seen. That my father had cheated on her was only his loss, as far as I was concerned.
Now all those horror stories that I had heard from my friends was happening to me, in my own home. My father had walked out and left us the house and a lot of money to keep the divorce quiet. The settlement had been enough to pay for all of my college and the pay off the house not, but we both still had to work make ends meet. During school, mom worked as a paralegal for a local law office and I started out as a business/customer-service intern with a company that would hopefully keep me on and promote me once I got my degree. I had a reputation for being wise beyond my years, calm and cool and capable of being steady when making decisions. When I heard thought things about me, the only response would be for me to shrug. When my father left and I was the man of the house, what choice did I have? I had to grow up quickly.
Throughout my college years, mom was using this time to catch up on the things that she never had a chance to do before. She always provided for me, making sure the house was clean and dinner was made, but the woman was getting wilder and wilder, I observed through the years. What started out as a once a month “girls night-out” had turned into a weekly Friday night party. Then it was Friday and Saturday. Then it was Wednesday hump day party and the weekends. The clothes she wore became more and more provocative. Her skirts got shorter. Her pants and jeans got tighter. Her shirts became sheerer. It drove me crazy to see her dressed like that as beautiful as I thought she was. Yes, it drove me crazy with jealousy.
But I never said anything. I merely took a deep breath and sighed and went about my work. She was my mother, an adult, and it was none of my business. But it grated on me and irritated me more and more over the years. It got to be like she thought of me as nothing more than a room mate. She’d cook my meals but beyond that, I was a friend. Deep inside, it felt like not only had I lost a father, but I had also lost my mother. It made me sad, it made me annoyed. It downright pissed me off.
Finally, I graduated college with a Bachelor’s Degree is Business Administration, specializing in human resources. My company kept me on and named me a junior executive, assistant director of human resources within the customer service division. I went from a minimum wage call center job to making good money with a company provided credit card, cell phone and all the benefits that went with my position. My mom was proud of me and when I told her I would remain living at home for a while, she seemed relieved. As much as she was going out, she seemed to like me around as a comfort zone, knowing that I was there and that she still had some family to remain with. That really pissed me off, because she treated me more like a friend than anything else.
When I got my promotion, I took my mother out for dinner to some fancy restaurant that I knew she would like. My mouth was watering when she walked out of her bedroom in a low-cut, form-fitting black cocktail dress that showed all of her beautiful womanly curves. My eyes shone as I looked at her. Mom looked away embarrassed and only whispered that she had to look good when the man of the house took her out. I silently nodded and smiled but my heart was racing and my cock was stirring in my pants.
All night long, she sat next to me, provocatively close, holding onto my arm and laughing at my jokes as we drank the wine and ate dinner. Many times, I could feel her thigh rubbing against mine, or her knee hitting mine. I tried to convince myself that it was all innocent but it was having a definite effect on me. By the time we walked out of the restaurant with my mom clinging to my arm and resting her head on my shoulder, I knew from that moment on I wanted her. I did not care if she was my mother or not. I wanted to take her to bed and to feel her beneath me.
That night as we got into the house, I held the door open for me and she quickly turned to me and rose onto her tip toes so her face was nearly equal to my six-foot one-inch frame. She slipped her arms around my neck and kissed my cheek. The feeling was electric and I was positive that she could feel my heart pounding like a race horse near the finish line.
“I’m proud of you,” she whispered breathily, almost dreamily. She then kissed me cheek again, this time a little more lingeringly, like she didn’t want to break the moment. “You’re the man of the house now.”
Without saying another word, mom turned and ran up the stairs, like she was embarrassed, leaving me stunned and confused. I stood there for a moment still feeling the heat of her body against me, her lips burning against my cheek and an ache deep inside that made my cock hard. As I walked up the stairs slowly and past her door to my bedroom, I was sure I could hear her moaning. My cock was rock hard as I pictured her lying on the bed naked touching herself, but I did not open the door like I so wanted to. I walked to my bedroom and went to sleep, trying to calm the ache deep inside.
Over the next weeks, it went back to like it was before: friends living together as roommates. Neither of us talked about that night or the kiss, but the tension was thick. Mom seemed to taunt as tease me all the time now. She’d smile sexily to me or bat her eye lashes at me like she was trying to entice me to action. The clothes she wore became more sensual. They weren’t sluttish, but obviously made so that her charms would be noticed. Notice them I did, going silently crazy with lust for my mother. I didn’t care that she was my mother or what other people would say. I wanted her more than I had ever wanted anything in my life. I dreamt about her, feeling her, touching her, caressing her. Shockingly enough, I dreamed of owning her.
One night it just got to be too much. I had come home late one Friday at seven o’clock after a business meeting to a note and an empty house. Mom was out for friends but dinner was warming in the oven and waiting for me. I crumpled the note and threw it against the wall with anger. Sure, I thought, I was the man of the house, but where was she? Where was the woman of the house? She was out having a good time. I was fuming.
Silently, I went upstairs and slipped out of my sport coat, hanging it up and taking my tie off. Relaxed now, in khakis and my work shirt, I ate dinner alone, still fuming. I checked the clock every ten minutes wondering what time the little slut would get home. In my mind, thoughts ran through of what I would do, what I would say. If I was the man of the house, I couldn’t tolerate this anymore. I had to put my foot down. I flung my fork across the room at the thought of another man touching my mother. I fumed with anger. No wonder my father left her, I thought to myself, but was immediately guilt-ridden for even thinking of that. My father was a bastard. His leaving wasn’t mom’s fault. But here she was with another man in her house, ignoring her.
That would change or I was leaving, I had decided.
At ten thirty that night, my mom’s car finally pulled into the drive and I got out of the love seat to meet her at the door. She seemed tipsy when she walked in and sort of startled to see me standing there. She looked away, embarrassed and then looked up at me. I could see heavy make-up on her face which only infuriated me even more. She looked like a tramp, blush and eye shadow caked onto her face and then short black skirt.
“Sorry I’m getting home so late,” mom said meekly and looked away again.
“I’m moving out,” was all I said, standing there with my hands in my pockets.
As I watched her silently, her shoulders started to shake and she sobbed, finally ending up crying. Shaking my head I turned away, ignoring her and walked back into the family room to watch the news. I told myself I wouldn’t let her talk me out of it. I would not be ignored. I wouldn’t stand for it. My mind was made up, and there was no turning back.
My mother was soon kneeling down on the floor in front of me crying with her cheek on my knee begging me to stay.
“Please, James, don’t leave me. I need you to stay. You’re all I have left,” she wept as I ignored her. Her tears ran down her cheek and were wetting my pants, but still I paid her no mind.
“Why should I stay, when we live as room mates?” I asked, watching television, not even looking at her. “You act like I’m not even here sometimes, mom. You don’t need me to not be alone. You have your friends to take you out on the weekends.”
“Please!” she cried and wept. “You’re all I have left! Don’t leave me, son.” She begged me.
Looking down at her, she shrank under my harsh look and my silence. “No, I’m not, mom. You have your friends.”
Then mom got mad and she leaned back on her heels but remained on the floor. When I looked down I could see her black skirt riding up her thighs, exposing her beautiful legs to me. I was burning with lust again, mixed with the anger of the moment. I have to remain strong, I told myself over and over again. I have to remain strong.
“You’re just like your father,” she said, with an angry tone in her voice. “Fine! Leave me just like your father left!”
