A Brief Romance Ch 02

[The following story is fictional, and all characters are of legal age.]

The morning after my mother and I exchanged a few brief but passionate kisses, I awoke without transition from sleeping to wakefulness, first from the smell of breakfast coming from the kitchen and then, almost immediately afterwards, with the electrifying memory of our kisses immediately on my mind, causing my shorts to tighten with more than just the usual morning wood.

I reached into my underwear to relieve the pressure and immediately stopped: I would no longer waste my energy on myself like that. Like an ardent lover I would save myself for my beloved.

I slowly realized that, in making that commitment, I made a goal for myself, not just to continue kissing my mother as my girlfriend but to consummate our love in incestuous intercourse -- to make her my lover, to, to, (still a virgin, I could hardly put it into words!) to come in her pussy and to fuck my mother.

My body shuddered with excitement at the thought of it, but it took moment for my body to orient itself to this new arrangement of something resembling chastity. Eventually my hormones subsided enough for me to safely leave my bedroom without my tented shorts leading the way -- and leave wearing a clean pair of shorts with my tee-shirt, hoping my mother wouldn't notice the change of apparel, and hoping she wouldn't eventually notice the stain on last night's shorts when she did the laundry.

As I was washing up in the bathroom, the first moment of dread hit me, far beyond any normal teenage concerns about semen stains. Did my mother remember last night, and did she remember our kissing fondly?

Had she forgotten the whole thing? Was she irrationally angry with me for reciprocating her affection? Was my powerful desire of romantic love with my mother to be extinguished just as it was enflamed?

Then I remembered the smell of breakfast and knew that, no matter what, things would be okay. It would be better to get the worst over quickly, and maybe there was nothing to get over and nothing to find but a mother's love for her son -- and maybe, a woman's love for her man.

With the thought of food being overshadowed by the possibility of some more passionate kissing, I walked into the kitchen cautious but hopeful.

There I found my mother, dressed in a tank top and short-shorts, attire that was fitting for the warm spring weather and encouraging to the thought of avoiding any scolding. Her back was turned to me as she minded the stove, pan-frying French toast and link sausage

My desire leapfrogged over any thoughts of discretion: I walked up behind her, said "Good morning" so as not to startle her, gently grabbed her waist, and leaned down with my face brushing her curly black hair before planting a firm kiss on the cheek. It was hardly anything I wouldn't have done a hundred times before, but now I imbued it with so much more meaning.

"That smells great," I told her, releasing her waist and nodding at the breakfast before reaching up to get plates from an overhead cabinet.

"Good morning," she replied. "I was hoping the smell of food would finally get you out of bed." She set down the spatula to caress my back and even lightly tickled the ribs under my outstretched arm.

I set the plates down on the counter, turned to face my mom, and decided to go for broke.

I grabbed her wrist, pulled her close, and looked down into her deep brown eyes.

"I love you, Momma," I said, before leaning in and giving her a kiss like the ones from the night before, passionate, with my lips slightly parted.

I straightened up and saw my mother look at me, startled, then smiling.

"I love you, too, honey," she replied, and it was her turn to surprise me as she grabbed the back of my neck and repeated the same lover's kiss, ending with a brief swipe of her tongue to touch and taste my lips.

"What was all that about?" she asked with a smile, as she gently pushed me away to tend to the oven.

"I just love you, and I wanted to tell you."

"You tell me often enough," she replied.

"I can never say it often enough: I love you, Momma," and I hesitated but continued on, boldly adding, "and I love kissing you."

My mom demured -- and did she blush a little? -- before replying, "I love kissing you, too."

From there, the breakfast ritual continued as usual, and our day carried on, except we might have kissed more than we usually would, and it would be impossible to say that our kisses were the sort of kisses normally shared by a mother and her son.

-----

It's natural for the relationship between a mother and son to change over time, but not like this: I had turned 18 earlier in the year, we began kissing like lovers, and our relationship then changed quickly and radically.

We used to live separate lives at night, eating a perfunctory dinner and then parting ways, me to the den to read or watch TV and my mom to her room, to drink and watch her own TV in privacy. We now spent more time together, talking more over dinner and watching TV together, cuddling on the den's two-seater loveseat like lovestruck teenagers -- which one of us was.

My mom would lean into me as I wrapped my arm around her shoulder, sniffing the aroma of her hair. My arm would fall around her back, my hand easing between her arm and her side, and I would squeeze her soft body, perilously close to feeling the side of her breast underneath her robe.

Once, during a movie's commercial break, I looked down at the face of the beautiful woman beside me, and I began kissing her all over -- her forehead and temple and cheek -- nuzzling her ear and planting soft kisses on her neck.

She moaned my name in approval and then ran her fingers through my hair, directing my lips to hers, where her open mouth eagerly awaited mine. We French kissed in earnest that night for the first time, with our tongues intertwined and massaging each othet. With my free hand I first grabbed her by the waist and then -- acting ever more boldly -- I moved my hand to caress her firm, braless breast through her robe. She moaned again, placing her hand on top of mine to squeeze her tit even more firmly.

Eventually our first "make-out session" came to a natural conclusion, long after the commercials ended and the movie resumed. We looked at each other and laughed at how good we felt, and then we held each other close and watched the rest of the movie.

From then on, it seemed we were never safe from a hug and a kiss becoming something more, with our lips and tongues locked in a playful wrestling match while our hands explored each other through our clothes -- my hands kneading her fit round ass, with her hands rubbing my ass through my shorts, my erection poking her stomach and instinctively aching for the warmth that it knew lay further down.

We were getting to know each other's bodies very well indeed. My mom knew I had dry skin, so she began helping me when I showered, coming in a few times a week to scrub the perpetually itchy skin on my back and even scrubbing my chest while I modestly covered my privates with my hands. Soon enough, I let my arms hang free at my side, sometimes closing my eyes to enjoy the feeling of my mother's soapy hands on my naked body, sometimes watching to see how she would react to my relaxed but swollen manhood. Our eyes would meet, and we would both chuckle before she left me to finishing my shower.

And at night I would roam over my mother's body, not by sight but by the even more intimate sense of touch. One night not long after we began making our on the loveseat, I awoke for no reason at all but couldn't get back to sleep. I had but one thought in mind, to hold my mother in bed.

Quietly, and in the dark, I made my way across the hall. Lifting her blanket and sheet, I slipped into my mother's bed, waking her just enough to put her at ease: "It's me, Momma, I couldn't sleep."

She told me it was okay and she almost turned to hold me, but I stopped her by holding her first, my arm draped over her arm, our fingers intertwined, and my body lying close alongside hers. That first night, we both quickly went to sleep, comfortable in our embrace.

The next morning was just like any morning, with me coming into the kitchen to find my mom making a quick breakfast for the two of us: the only difference was that I woke up in my momma's bed.

-----

The routine went on for a few weeks, snuggling with my mom on the loveseat, exposing myself to her when she scrubbed me in the shower, coming into her bed when i woke in the middle of the night, and always those kisses -- those kisses! -- each one more electrifying than the one before.

One night, I snuck into my mother's bed, but this time my arm didn't drape over hers. I had pulled her body close to mine, my arm came to rest under hers, and my forearm lay across her breast.

I was immediately more awake than ever. No longer separated by the bra she wore during the day or by the heavy cotton of her evening robe, my arm was practically against her bare breast with only her thin silky nightgown in between.

I moved my hand to cover her breast, and I felt her rubbery nipple come to life and poke against my palm. I squeezed, and my fingertips felt her nipple and could even make out the surrounding aureole.

The feeling was bliss, my body responded, and I soon realized that my erection lay against my mother's ass. I imagined pulling down my shorts enough to let the monster free, rubbing it directly against the silky nightgown. Instead, it was pleasure enough keeping everything in my shorts, letting my... my cock rub against my mother's delicious ass.

I kept flexing my own body, slowly grinding my manhood against my mother's warm body, enjoying every millimeter while my fingers teased and tweaked her nipple. I moaned -- I couldn't help but moaning -- and my dozing mother moaned too, grabbing my hand and squeezing to encourage me further.

But then she woke up completely. Grabbing my hand and pulling it away from her chest, she brought my motions to a surprising end.

"It's the middle of the night," she said. "We have to get up in the morning."

"I'm sorry," I replied, and I began to disengage as I considered going back to my own bed.

"It's okay, lay back," she said as she rolled over, pushed my chest down with her hand, and laid her head on my shoulder.

She rubbed my chest once or twice, and then suddenly her hand slid down my body and under my shorts and boxers.

Her thumb rested against my still-erect cock while her fingers curled around my hairy scrotum, massaging the balls that were aching for release as I had been abstaining from masturbating for weeks.

Her fingers made their way to the shaft, pulling gently but firmly as my back arched and I let out a low, guttural moan.

I had taken my time exploring her breast and grinding against her body, but my mother went straight to work, pumping my cock with surprising expertise.

"Oh, oh, oh, oh Momma!" I cried out as the climax suddenly hit me, an ejaculation that I was sure would stain the sheets.

"Oh, Momma," I sighed as my body began to relax.

"Shh," she whispered, kissing my cheek. "It's okay, now go to sleep."

"I love you, Momma," I whispered as my cock shrank back to its normal size, still in my mother's grasp as she kept her hand, now covered in come, down my boxers, caressing the shaft and then moving to squeeze my balls.

"I love you, too," was her only reply.