Many thanks, once again, to tangentjoker who edited this story.
This story is fiction. It is about an incestuous relationship. All the characters are aged eighteen or older.
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How could I get into my mother's pants? To fuck her. To lie on her body, shoving my cock into her pussy as she cried out in lustful joy. At the age of eighteen, it was my constant fantasy. My tall, skinny, flat chested mother had somehow become a sex symbol to me; the vision that I saw in my fantasies. My jerk off dream girl.
I have no idea why I lusted after this homely, mature woman, in her forties. True, there was the intimacy of living in the same home. Mother and son, alone together. Maybe it was Mom's scent that turned me on. Maybe it was the fact that she was a loving mother who did her best for me. It could be that hers was the only live pussy I had ever seen. The nubile girls I went to school with had little attraction for me. Only my skinny mother had any appeal.
Mom had divorced my father when I was still a toddler. I did see him often, but not as much as when I was younger. He had remarried and had other responsibilities. In his defense, I will say that he took as much interest in me as he could, under the circumstances. We got along quite well.
My mother, Carol, was a very friendly woman. One of her good points was a beautiful smile. One that would light up her face. Even with that smile, she was not an attractive woman. She stood six feet, her arms and legs were stringy muscle. Totally titless, she could not be called a sexy woman. Her face didn't help any. It was plain, even homely. Her hair was mousy. She cut it square at chin level.
Mom rarely had a date. Very few of them resulted in repeats. She did have a few women friends. They would shop together and get together for bridge. Mom's mother was a frequent visitor. Her father had died a couple of years before this story starts.
Mom worked at a full time job as a bank officer. She did well financially. We never hurt for money. She dressed in business suits, usually pantsuits. She said her legs were not suited to skirts. But she would wear one occasionally, sometimes with nylons. It was always a turn-on for me when she did. Despite the fact that it wasn't an attractive sight.
I knew more about my mother than she thought. I knew she had a collection of vibrators. I knew she didn't trim the hair on her pussy and that she had a wild, dark bush. I knew she had large dark areolas and prominent nipples. I knew how she looked naked. I had peeked.
Her mother, Grandma, was a different woman than her daughter. In her early sixties, she was quite tall also, about 5'10". She was well built and shapely. With nice tits, slim waist and a pretty face. I never had sexual dreams about Grandma. Well, that's not quite true. A couple of times, I had jerk-off fantasies about her and Mom and I as a threesome.
As far as I knew, Grandma was not dating any men. At least, I never heard her mention it. Shortly after her husband had passed away, she had retired. She lived not far from us in a comfortable house.
My name is John. I'm six feet and weigh about 170. Slim, but not skinny. I'm not bad in the looks department, and I'm well endowed. At least I think I am. The only reference I had was seeing other guys in the shower after gym. We were always flaccid, so it was hard to tell. I checked my measurements against some of the stories I read. I measured up pretty good. But I couldn't be sure since I was reading fiction. At any rate, I was pretty sure that I was average or better.
In school I did well scholastically, but not socially. Although I am pretty well built, I don't have much interest in sports. I am definitely not a team player. I am basically a loner, and very shy, too. The girls in my class were mostly interested in jocks. I was too shy to overcome that disadvantage.
I was enrolled in a local junior college for the fall. I was not sure what I wanted to do with my life. I thought I would go to school locally until I had decided. My mother approved of my choice. She would be happy to have me at home for another year or two.
So at the age of eighteen, having just finished high school, I was still a virgin. My mother, and my grandmother too, were worried about the fact that I had so few dates. Thinking back, I realize that Mom and Grandma were the only women that I felt relaxed with.
Perhaps it was my shyness that caused me to obsess about my mother. To jerk off to fantasies about her every night. To make a, carefully hidden, spy hole so I could watch her in the bath. To sneak into her room to look through her drawers. To go through the hamper for her soiled panties; to inhale the aroma of her fragrant pussy.
I read stories on a site I had found on the internet "Literotica." I was hoping to find a way, but nothing seemed quite right. I imagined ways to make her my lover. I dreamt of sneaking into her room while she slept and tying her hands to the headboard, not her legs though. I wanted to feel them clasping me as I pumped my hard cock into her.
I imagined her coming to me asking me to be her lover. I thought about letting her catch me masturbating. I planned to catch her masturbating, shoving her vibrator into her hot pussy.
I dreamt of fucking her, of eating her. Of her cries of, "Fuck me." Of my face buried in her aromatic cunt licking and sucking at her clit.
I dreamt of her kneeling in front of me, my cock in her wet mouth as she looked up at me adoringly.
But it was all dreams.
I didn't have a summer job, so I was home most days when Mom was at work. I would read or play games on my computer. I'd check the porn sites, too. I didn't really care for the videos. I much preferred to read stories. My imagination would put my mother into them, especially the incest tales.
I did a lot of the housework, too. I thought to give my mother a break since I wasn't doing anything. I would also mow Grandma's lawn for her every week and do any yard work she needed done.
Grandma always invited me in, afterwards, for a cold drink and to rest up. We talked about a lot of things. Current events, my future, Mom; Grandma said she wished Mom would date more. She said on one occasion, "She needs a man."
"I'd love to be that man, if I could."
I thought.
It was overhearing a conversation between Mom and Grandma that gave me the inspiration I needed.
It was a Saturday afternoon. They were sitting in the kitchen talking over coffee. I was upstairs in my bedroom playing on my computer. Bored, I decided to read for a while. I found that I had left my book downstairs in the living room. I started to go for it.
At the top of the stairs, I heard my grandmother say, "If he was my son I'd have had him in bed long ago."
"Oh, Mom," It was my mother's voice replying. "That wouldn't be right. Even if I wanted to."
"It would be just what you both need." Grandma's voice again. "You said it yourself. You need a man. There's one right here for you; and he needs a woman to teach him. All he needs is a little self-confidence."
"He does excite me," Mom said. Her voice was soft. I could just make out what she said.
"Make yourself available to him," Grandma told her. "If you don't, I may try him out myself."
"Mom, that's awful," my mother's voice again. A pause, then she said, pensively. "I would have long ago, but I don't know how."
"Well, I guess you could start by wearing skimpier clothes around the house." Grandma replied. "Let's go look at what you have in your closet."
That was my cue to get back to my room.
