Let me tell you a couple things about my mom, April. To anyone she knows, she seems like the nicest lady you've ever met. She lives by the gospel, she's drop-dead gorgeous, and her smile lights up the whole room. I love my mom. But she's also kind of an idiot. I know, that's harsh; it would be more true to call her gullible. "Trusting," you could say. She's more "trusting" than anyone else in the family. And, unfortunately, she gets just about all her information from an unreliable source.
There's a website called "Christian Moon" or just CMoon for short. It was created by our pastor's wife, Abby, who from what I can gather has way too much idle time on her hands and is extremely gullible herself. She posts something sensational to it every week, then the other moms on the forums eat it up and corroborate with their own anecdotes. The worst was keeping us from getting vaccinations. That got a little too real. The rest of us had to confront her about it, kind of like an intervention. Even dad, who usually left parenting decisions to her and kept to himself, was scared enough for our safety that he got involved. In the end, she relented on the vaccines, but still keeps up with CMoon. A compromise, you could say, that kept us alive but still under threat of whatever lie she would believe next.
The most consistent theme? Masturbation. She believed every made-up claim: you could grow hands on your palms, you would go blind, you'll go prematurely bald. I actually believed that last one for a while, but after some research it's probably more likely you'll go balder faster from not wanking it. That's mom's problem: she never checks the sources, never asks for a second opinion, never googles it, just "it said so on CMoon" and that's that.
Dirty magazines, rated-R movies, ladies tennis, anything that could insight lust was strictly off limits. Again, she's trusting, so it wasn't hard to sneak anything by her, but I hate that I even need to. Even if I still live with her, I'm an adult now, I should be able to do what I want. I like that she cares and wants what's best for me even now. I admire that. I just hate that she believes lies.
So inevitably we fell into the classic situation; It was a Saturday, I was jacking off to a picture of Serena Williams on a cereal box (I hadn't been able to get myself anything good for a while), I forgot to lock the door, she forgot to knock, yada yada yada, I'm caught in the act. She closes the door in a hurry, and her first statement? "I should have known not to buy those Wheaties." Even though I was really surprised, embarrassed, and blueballed, I found it really funny at the time. Less funny was, "That's it, Julian, I've had it! I'm going to ask the other moms on CMoon how to stop this problem. It's for your own good."
Well, that was a horrifying proposition. Now the Christian ladies of the neighborhood might look at me differently because they will know I was, shock of shocks, masturbating (in my own room, on my own time, as a grown-ass man). Not only that, but they would certainly feed her some cocamaimy bullshit solutoins. Who knows what she would end up doing. Sometimes, I think these ladies are tricking my mom on purpose like elementary school bullies. I certainly never hear their kids complaining about this stuff. The idea just makes me want to yell at those suburban homemakers, "leave my mom alone!"
Although, it did give me an idea. Actually, I had had the idea for a while, but I wasn't sure when to put it into practice. This incident seemed like it must have been the right time. I was going to hack into CMoon. Well, "hack" is being awfully generous. It's a hobby website created by a tech-illiterate creationist. All I really needed to do was guess her password (her son's name and the year of his birth, first thing I tried) and I was in, with full Admin Privileges. I changed her password to something nice and obscene so she could not even try to log in while I was on.
The way the forum worked was that users posted onto the forums at night, but they had to be approved by the admin before they would show up the next day (hense Christian "Moon"). That was easy to exploit, since that way mom would not see the responses until the next morning. For now, they were mine to read and cringe at.
The first comment read, "Wash his hands with vinegar before he goes to sleep. Stings like the dickens." Ow! Gee thanks, Barbra. That started a reply chain mostly focused on putting something on my hands to keep me from touching it, from perfume to foam fingers. One mom suggested tying my hands with rope, which I'm pretty sure is actually just a fetish. Another chain was about blocking out stimulus; take away his TV, homeschool him, make his sisters wear more modest clothing (they think I'm masturbating to my sisters? What is with these people?). And of course a few moms were just dead set on punishing my behavior despite, again, being a grown adult. Some of those got slightly kinky as well, from simple spankings all the way to borderline cock-and-ball torture. I'll spare you the grizzly details. The only sane comment I saw said that I "should have to do more chores around the house" and that would solve it. I'll admit, that would probably make me masturbate less. I would be busier.
So, I obviously was not going to let all of this stand. With admin privileges, I could easily delete all of these comments and post my own just saying, "Don't worry about it, he'll grow out of it in time," or something like that. But that would only solve the momentary problem. I wanted to break mom out of believing this shit once and for all. The only way I could do that was to give her just as much constant, CMoon-level crazy, while telling her something she would never believe, even if she heard it from them. Then again, this was already pretty crazy, so I wasn't sure what I could even say that would believably top it. I mean, they were talking about bondage, cbt, incest... "yes," I thought, "incest." And so I got to editing.
When April woke up, she wasted no time in checking what was to be done about her son's perverted fall from grace. Well, she wasted a little time. Can't check CMoon without her morning coffee, afterall. "Now, then," she hummed to herself, "let's see what solutions the girls have come up with."
"The only way he'll stop masturbating," the first comment read, "is if he starts having sex properly. As the woman of the house, it's your responsibility."
"My responsibility?" April questioned. She wondered what Barbra meant by that. Maybe further comments would illuminate the situation.
"I never let my son leave the house," the first reply read, "without shooting a load inside of me. The bible says: always inside, never outside, no birth control. It's a sin to let him do anything else."
April couldn't believe it (that was why I wrote it, of course. The idea was to give her something she couldn't believe. So things were going well for my plan, right?)
April kept reading. "If your son doesn't have sex with a woman during his adolecense, he'll lose the ability to have children later in life. You use it or you lose it. Want grandkids? Let your son use your body until he's married."
"I'm happy that my second daughter was from my son," the next one read. "His father never knows the difference, and our family feels so much more whole."
"If you don't give your son sex with a woman when he's ready, he'll just be recruited by the homosexuals. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but..."
"Sometimes, on Sundays, I tell my husband to stay home so I can ride my son's penis at church. It's my little way of showing God my devotion to my family, and the pastor never notices."
"I don't just 'have sex' with my son. I make love to him. I kiss him, caress him, play with his body. He's my son, so I can't help but adore him! And I love that he adores me back."
April took a long sip of her coffee. She must have been transfixed by what she saw for a while, because it had already gone cold. How late was it? She reasoned with herself that she could not just sit there in disbelief all day. She decided she had to see me before I left the house.
She entered my door without knocking (again) and found that I was still asleep. "Wakey, wakey, sweetheart," she called to me. "You've slept in so late already."
I sat up on my bed, "oh yeah, sorry mom. I guess I stayed up later than I should have last night." I saw she was still in her PJ's, looking about as chipper as usual.
"You weren't touching yourself, were you? You know it's off limits."
"Yeah, I know." It seemed like nothing had changed. I figured my efforts might have all been for not.
"But don't worry," she continued, "I found a great solution to this on CMoon."
Oh no! My mom could not really be that gullible, can she?
"You lay back down," she told me, "and mommy will snuggle into bed beside you."
Well, that was innocent enough. But if she read what I think she read, this was not going to stay that way.
She crawled under my covers until her head popped up next to mine. Despite her usual self-righteousness, she seemed like she was taking some girlish delight from doing something she would usually think of as off-limits. I had to consider at that point if my mom was more susceptible to believing this particular lie than I would have guessed. Was she already attracted to me, or just sexually frustrated in general?
But I had to do something about this. "Mom, I have to tell you-"
"Shh, baby..." She put a finger over my mouth. Well, this was out of my hands now. She has made a long lasting habit of not listening to me and only listening to CMoon, so I really should have expected it. She jimmied herself over on top of me. I began to shake with anticipation. "Baby, baby. Tell me, have you had your first kiss yet?"
She lifted her finger off my mouth, "Mom, I-"
"Yes or no, Julian."
"... No, mom, I haven't had my first kiss yet."
My mom smiled with delight. "Oh! Well, then, you better get ready." She pulled out a stick of lipstick from somewhere (her pajamas did have pockets, but why would she-?) and with trained expertise colored her rips a luscious red. I don't know if she knew, or how she knew, but that happens to be a weakness of mine. She had great lips for it too. "Pucker up, baby!"
Up until this point, I was sincerely hoping I could stop her and explain the whole thing. She might ground me, scold me, or dip my hands in perfume or something, but long term we could look back about it and laugh. But I have to be honest, I was already looking forward to not getting the chance, and this sent me over the edge. Logic was out, lust was in, and hell yes I was going to kiss my mom.
I puckered up, closed my eyes, and let her kiss me like she's never kissed me before. First on the lips, then the cheeks, then down the neck. I was already writhing in pleasure from the sensation. She laid a few pecks on my pecs before coming back up for mouth-to-mouth. This time, it was open, intense, passionate. "How was it, baby?" she asked.
"Aw, you mean it's over?" I whined. Yes, I was flirting. You know, I'll admit, maybe I was also more susceptible to this than I would have admitted. I told you she was drop-dead gorgeous, didn't I? She had a little bit of a mom-bod. A little thick, a little chunky. Some nice big titties, a nice fat ass. Not too little, not too much. Just right. She had black hair, but that's why I still call her "Goldilocks." I can't imagine a woman hotter than my mom.
"Over?" she giggled, "Baby we haven't even gotten started." With that, she went back to kissing, first my nose, then my shoulders, then down to my belly, and finally she pulled down my chonies and under the covers placed a smooch on the base of my dick. Then on the ballsack, the shaft, and the head for last.
"What do you think of it, mom?" I asked her. "Are you proud of me?"
"It's not the size you should be proud of, honey," she lectured. "It's how you use it. Now," she continued, "I want you to promise me you'll use it right from now on. No more jacking off. It's sinful."
