Cheating Wife & Cucold Husband #02

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I dedicate this story to Walter from Southern California.

*

With that shaping the man that he is today, Jay remembers the sexual affair he had with his mother.

In defense of his incestuous relationship that Jay had with his mother, with him unremorseful, unrepentant, and unregretful that he had sex with his mother, their brief, sexual affair was more than just incest. Their brief, sexual affair was more than just a mother having incestuous sex with her son. Deeper than any physical, emotional, and sexual relationship he's ever had, the sex they had was more than just blind lust.

Shocking to anyone not in their incestuous situation, their romance was more about love than it was about sex. In the way that he's never loved any other woman as much, not his wife and not even his daughter, he loved his mother and she loved him. Only, by crossing the incestuous line and opening Pandora's Box, unable to ever go back, if they're guilty of anything, they're guilty of loving one another a little too much.

Who knows what would have happened between them had she not been taken so early in life in that fatal, car accident. He was only 18-years-old when she died. Unashamed and unembarrassed to admit his incestuous love for her, he never loved another woman in the way that he loved his mother.

His mother was not only a saint, she was his sexual Goddess. The first woman he had sex with, she took his virginity when he turned eighteen. Back then, she was the leading lady of his life. She was his biggest movie star. What Elizabeth Taylor was to Richard Burton and Maureen O'Hara was to John Wayne, his mother was to him.

Looking back at it now, her having sex with him was something she never would have done had she not known was going to prematurely die. Yet, unless she had a dream, a premonition, or had planned on committing suicide, how would she know that in less than 24-hours she'd be dead? As her final goodbye, the night before her fatal car crash, tragically befitting as if a sexy scene written in a Eugene O'Neill, Arthur Miller, or Tennessee Williams play, she had sex with him.

Ever since that tragic day, he's been riddled with guilt and remorse not because he had sex with his mother but because she died the day after their incestuous affair. Even though he knew he had nothing to do with her dying, he somehow felt responsible for her death. What helped him make peace with her dying was truly believing that having sex with his mother had nothing to do with her death. What helped him make peace with her dying was truly believing that her having sex with him was her gift for him to always remember her and never forget her. What gave him peace and the strength to survive, to persevere, and to flourish without her was in knowing that she loved him as much as he loved her and that she sexually wanted him as much as he sexually wanted her.

Yet with remorse eating away at him, he still somehow blamed himself for the untimely death of his mother. Always wondering what happened, he drove himself crazy speculating her frame of mind before the tragic accident. Maybe she felt guilty that she had sex with her son and purposely drove her car into a tree. Maybe preoccupied thinking about having sex with him the night before those troubling thoughts caused her to drive her car off the road the next day. Maybe it was as simple as her having a blowout and losing control of her car. Not knowing what preceded her driving into a tree, he didn't know how it happened.

Back then, few cars had air bags in the way that all cars have air bags today. Even if her car was equipped with an air bag, he didn't think that an air bag would have saved her. Unlike hitting a wall head-on where the energy is dissipated across the width of the car's entire front end, hitting a pole or a tree, head-on focuses the force of all of the energy of the crash in one area, the driver. Hitting a pole, a tree, or even another moving vehicle, due to the energy being greater with two vehicles moving in opposite directions, are usually fatal accidents.

Even though the thought of her committing suicide crossed his mind because of the guilt he felt for having sex with his mother, he believed she may have felt the same guilt too. Yet, he immediately ruled her taking her own life when thinking how happy she was when in bed with him a few hours before. With his mother generally such a happy and well-balanced person, a free spirit, he couldn't imagine her being sad enough to kill herself. Maybe suddenly saddened over the loss of her husband, with him cheating on her with another woman, she was driving drunk. With there being no witnesses to her fatal accident and with the police not routinely doing toxicology reports back then, when not suspecting foul play, unless he was to exhume her body, he'd never know what really happened.

Especially after God decided to take his mother prematurely to Heaven before her time, now that she's dead, he was just glad that he finally got to sexually experience his mother after lusting over her and loving her for so long. Seemingly appropriate, he thought of one of his quotes from Alfred Lord Tennyson's poem, In Memoriam A.H.H. that he recently learned in English Literature class.

"I hold it true, whate'er befall; I feel it, when I sorrow most; 'Tis better to love and lost than never to have loved at all."

Most definitely, in this era of broken homes and absentee parents, he was lucky to have his mother by his side. In this era of abandoned children and foster care, he was lucky to have a mother who loved him, truly loved him. He was lucky to have loved his mother than to never have loved her at all. Yet, it was one thing for him to love his mother but quite another thing for him to make love to his mother. Now that she's gone, unremorseful that they had sex, he was glad that they did. The last memory he has of her alive, he remembers that night that they were intimately together as if it happened last night instead of nearly thirty years ago.

* * * * *

Unbeknownst to him, she was already in bed when he lightly knocked on her closed, bedroom door. His pretense in hoping to catch her indisposed, in her bra and panty, topless, and/or naked, he wanted to show her something he found in an old copy of Life magazine. Sometimes, in the way he hoped to catch her without her clothes, he couldn't help but feel a little like Norman Bates of the Bates Motel in Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho fame. With him not hearing a response, perhaps he knocked too lightly.

"Mom?" He lightly knocked again, a little louder this time. "Are you decent? May I come in?"

His loaded question, are you decent, always evoked a sexual fantasy in him. As always he hoped, he hoped she wasn't decently dressed at all but invited him inside her bedroom anyway. He'd like nothing more than to see his mother without her clothes. As always he hoped, a sight of her that he's never seen before, he imagined her being in her bra and panties when he opened her bedroom door. As always he hoped, catching her by surprise and with her turning to stare at him as if she was a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car, he imagined her being topless and/or naked.

He imagined seeing her naked tits, her areolas, and her pink nipples. He'd love to see his mother's tits. He imagined seeing her naked. He imagined seeing her red, bushy pussy and her firm, round ass. He'd love to see her naked. Giving him more to masturbate over, he'd be happy just seeing her in her bra and panty or parading around her bedroom in her sheer, sexy nightgown.

As always he hoped, he imagined her sitting in front of her mirror in her sexy, sheer, low cut nightgown while brushing her beautiful, long, red hair. He imagined walking up to her to stand behind her sitting on her bench at her vanity table. His way of seeing the both sides of her at once, a double delight, whether it was the back of her or the front of her, he enjoyed seeing her reflection in the mirror while he was facing the other side of her. He'd love nothing more than to take the hairbrush from her hand and brush her long, lush, red hair while peering down her nightgown top and hoping to see more than just the tops of her breasts and her cleavage. Imagining that he would, he'd love to see his mother's areolas and her pink nipples.

As always he imagined, he imagined his mother standing by her bed in her sheer, sexy nightgown and, as if lit up on stage, being illuminated by the brightness of her overhead bedroom light. He imagined seeing the impressions of her pink nipples and her dark, red patch of bushy, pubic hair. He imagined seeing his mother's naked body through her nearly see-through nightgown as if she wasn't wearing anything at all. He imagined his mother striking a sexy pose as if she was his favorite movie star and he was a Paparazzi photographer. Only, when he opened her bedroom door, he knew that she'd never deliberately show him any part of her beautiful body. Even with all of his hoping and sexual fantasies over seeing her without her clothes, he knew he'd never see his mother in her bra and panty, topless, naked, or even in her nightgown without her wearing a robe.

He didn't even remember what it was he wanted to show her, just some pictures in an old magazine he found. Life magazine always took the best pictures. Wanting to show her the magazine was just his excuse to be with her in her bedroom. The magazine was his way that he hoped to catch his mother immodestly indisposed, immorally attired, and/or not properly dressed to receive him, her son, as a guest in her bedroom. Just as he wished he could see his mother in her bra and panty, topless, and/or naked, he'd love to see her in her sexy nightgown too.

"Come in," she said.

As soon as he opened her bedroom door, she burst his sexual bubble when he saw her comfortably sitting in bed reading. He remembered feeling disappointed that she was already in bed with the covers covering all that he had hoped to see of her. Sexually excited prematurely, he felt foolish now with Life magazine covering the bulging, incestuous lust that he had for his mother.

"I, um, wanted to show you something in life magazine," he said staring more at his mother's cleavage that showed over the blankets than he looked at her pretty face.

With his penis taking a life of its own, hardening itself as if choosing his mother for sex, his semi-erect cock suddenly tented his pajama bottoms. Suddenly embarrassed by her seeing just how much he sexually wanted her, he didn't know how he'd show her what he wanted her to see in the magazine without her seeing his swelling erection. He remembered being pleasantly surprised and sexually excited when she invited him in her bed.

"Climb in bed with me. We can keep one another warm while you show me the magazine," she said.

With the heat turned down at night and with it being so cold in her room, she opened the covers for him to climb under them. He couldn't believe his mother invited him to get under the covers with her. With all of the sexual fantasies he's had of seeing her in her bra and panty, topless, naked, and/or in her sheer, sexy nightgown, being in bed with his mother was something he never expected to experience.

Being in bed with his mother was nearly as good as seeing her in her bra and panties, topless, and/or naked. Maybe he'd accidentally on purpose feel and touch some part of his mother's body that he's forbidden to feel and touch. Adding to his lustful desire of wanting to have sex with his mother, when she opened her blanket, he saw more of his mother than he's ever seen of her before. Seeing what he always imagined seeing of his mother, he saw what no son should ever see of his mother and what no mother should ever show her son of herself.

With her nightgown raised nearly to her waist, past the tops of her shapely thighs, he saw the side of his mother's naked thigh all the way up to her hip. Then, not believing all that he was seeing, he saw a quick flash of her red, bushy pussy. He saw his mother's cunt. He couldn't believe he saw his mother's cunt. Oh, my God, he'll be masturbating over that one quick flash of his mother's red, bushy pussy for the rest of his horny life.

Something he never imagined happening when imagining her in her bra and panty, topless, and/or naked, he couldn't believe he was in bed with his mother. Then, once he was in her bed with her, she cuddled him in the way she used to do when she read to him in bed so many years ago. Enjoying the unexpected physical attention, she wrapped her arm around his shoulders and hugged him. Forget about her keeping him warm, she made him hot. With the heat of her body warming more than just his body but his sexual passion, he didn't even need a blanket to keep warm.

Holding him, hugging him, and fawning all over him, as if he was her long lost boyfriend returning home from the military after being stationed overseas, she kissed him on the forehead and on the cheek before she did something totally unexpected but welcomed. She kissed him on the mouth. His mother, the love of his life, kissed him on the mouth. He couldn't believe his mother kissed him on the mouth. Other than a peck goodnight, a kiss beneath the mistletoe at Christmas, and a kiss on his birthday, his mother never kissed him on the mouth. Sexually alive as if she had plugged his penis in an electrical outlet, he shivered with sexual excitement.

Startled into inaction, before he could even wrap his brain around her kissing him on the mouth, she kissed him on the mouth again. Only this time she French kissed him. His mother French kissed him. He couldn't believe his mother French kissed him. His mother put her soft, loving hand behind his head, moved her fingers through his chestnut brown hair, parted his lips with her tongue, and stuck her tongue in his mouth.

If it wasn't surprising enough that she kissed him on the mouth, he was flabbergasted when she not only kissed him again but French kissed him. Shocked and not knowing what to do, his sexual opportunity with his mother missed, he didn't have the sexual experience or even the presence of mind to return her kiss. With him a virgin, the first time kissing a woman, French kissing a woman, was when he kissed his senior prom date, Grace. Even when thinking about that night now so long ago, he still can't believe his mother French kissed him. To this day, perhaps because it was his mother's French kiss but that kiss was the best kiss he's ever had in his life.

* * * * *

She was lonely after his father left her for another woman and, in the way that his wife, Ruth, was drinking now, only not nearly as much, his mother started drinking then. Her loneliness was the obvious reason why she slipped him her tongue, no doubt. Maybe she was a little drunk when she kissed him but, not remembering the taste of alcohol on her breath and with the memory of her giving him sex so very long ago, he didn't remember. With her French kiss blanking his mind, he was too overwhelmed and sexually aroused by her kiss to remember anything else in that moment.

Then, kissing and kissing him, she kissed him as if she was kissing his father. Perhaps because he looked so much like his father when he was his age, they made out the same way that he made out with Grace in the backseat of his car after taking her to the senior prom. Afraid to even touch her and feel her in the way that he felt Grace's tits and reached around her to feel her ass through her prom gown and panties, he didn't dare touch his mother's body through her nightgown.

With him trying to justify his incestuous behavior, but only kidding himself, he truly believed that their kisses, even their French kisses were nothing more than loving kisses between a son and his mother. Yet, more sexually inflamed, thinking back on it now, obviously her kisses were much more than that. Her kisses were filled with as much sexual desire as his kisses were filled with incestuous lust for his mother.

As if she was the man and he was the woman, she was hot and was breathing heavily. Surprised that she was seemingly as sexually aroused as he was, he innocently thought that only men became sexually hot and bothered. Perhaps because she was his mother and with him thinking of her as a sainted virgin and his birth an immaculate conception, never did he ever think that his mother was human sexually. Never did he ever think his mother would want sex as much as he wanted sex, especially with him and in the way that he wanted to have sex with her. As if she had a contagious fever, she was sexually excited and her sexual excitement carried over to him. Unable to remove his eyes from them, he remembered seeing the impressions of his mother's huge nipples through her nightgown.

As soon as he saw the impressions of his mother's erect nipples, he knew she was sexually aroused. As soon as he saw the impressions of his mother's erect nipples, he wanted to finger them through her nightgown before reaching his horny hand inside to feel her breasts and fondle her breasts. In the way that he had felt and sucked Grace's tits on prom night, as soon as he saw the impressions of his mother's erect nipples, he wanted to suck them. As soon as his mother started kissing him more passionately, he had an erection. Then, with him instinctively rubbing and involuntarily humping his hard, bulging cock up against her soft, naked thigh, he couldn't believe it when his mother reached her hand down to feel his prick through his pajama bottoms and underwear.

'Oh, my God!'

His sexual fantasy come true, his mother was fondling his penis through his pajamas and underwear. He couldn't believe his mother was fondling his cock through his pajamas and underwear. In the way he so wanted to feel his mother's tits through her nightgown, but with him so afraid to inappropriately, sexually touch her, she was feeling his erect cock through his clothes. Then, sexually shocking him, she slid her hand down into his white, cotton briefs and wrapped her motherly fingers around his cock.

Because he was in bed with his MILF of a mother, the woman of his sexual fantasies, his cock was larger and harder than he ever remembered. None of his masturbation fantasies when using his father's porn stash made his cock as big, stiff, and as red with blood as it was now. Suddenly proud of his hard prick, he wondered whether his cock was bigger than his father's cock. He wondered whether his penis was harder, thicker, more veined, and more muscled than what his mother was used to when having sex with his father. Now knowing that his prick felt like in his mother's hand, he wondered what his cock would feel like in his mother's mouth while she stroked him and sucked him. Imagining watching her sucking him and sucking him, he'd love nothing more than to show his love for his mother by ejaculating a warm, oozy load of his virginal cum in his mother's mouth while watching her swallow.

Forget about crossing the incestuous line, when she took his cock in her hot hand, she leapt over the incestuous line. If she was wearing panties, which she wasn't, she did something he'd never do to her that she just did to him. He'd never slide his hand down in her white panties and finger her pussy in the way she just slid her hand down his underwear to feel his cock. Unable to sexually grope and feel his mother in the way she groped and felt him, with him having mixed feelings and confused emotions about having an incestuous relationship with his mother, he felt as embarrassed as he felt sexually excited.

'Oh, my God,' he thought. 'This can't be happening. I don't believe this. I must be dreaming.'

Yet, he wasn't dreaming and this incestuous affair was really happening. Something he only sexually fantasized happening, his mother was holding his erect prick in her soft hand. He couldn't believe his mother was holding his erect prick in her warm hand. Whenever he masturbated himself, he always imagined what it would feel like for his mother to hold his stiff prick in her hand and now he knew. It felt wonderful. Her hand felt amazing.