The following story is true. I have changed names to protect the innocent, but everything else really happened. All people involved in sexual activities are at least 18 years old.
*
Lot of people are probably wondering how I came to view my mom sexually. Did I catch her masturbating, like in so many stories? Or did she catch me masturbating? My answer is that there was no one event that triggered my attraction to her. I simply never differentiated between females inside and outside my family and no one ever told me I should. I doubt most parents give their kids the birds-and-bees talk and end by saying "But you can't do it with relatives."
I think I have a more diverse taste in women than most men. I of course have a strong appreciation for the young, big-boobed, slender women that the advertising industry loves but I can get off just as easily thinking of women of all sorts of age groups and body types. My Mom, while not one of the absurd supermodel MILFs you'll find in so many fictional stories, has aged better than most women her age and once even got carded for buying alcohol. She's a short woman (I was taller than her by my freshman year of high school) with chin-length black hair and pale skin. She's round but not fat and has small B-cup breasts. But her best part is her ass, whose bulging roundness is obvious even in the loosest skirts and pants.
It's hard to pinpoint the moment I realized that I loved my mother as more than just a mother. It was in my teen years when my desire for her became physical as well as emotional but I feel like I loved her for my entire life. When I left for college, I missed her so much that my love for her grew tenfold. When I came home for holidays, I started sharing her bed again because being with her just felt so comfortable and right. Sometimes I would snuggle up to her as she slept, letting go only when I got an embarrassing erection. I'd wake up early and go to the bathroom or shower just so that I could have the chance to jack off. Sometimes, if it was real early and my willpower was especially weak, I'd hold up the comforter with my left hand and masturbate with my right while watching my mother sleeping beside me. Afterwards, I'd lay in bed blushing, praying that I hadn't woken her.
My love for my mother had but one obstacle: my father. I hated him. He wasn't abusive or neglectful, just cold and stern to both me and my mom. He simply didn't love us. On the rare occasions he showed emotion, it was to throw a temper tantrum over the silliest little things. Even on things he should have been angry about, like a bad grade, he completely overreacted. He'd lock himself up in his study and Mom would lock herself up in her room. When I was young and stupid, I would try to go into my father's study and try to calm him down, only to be shouted at and thrown out. I soon realized that my time was better spent comforting my mother. I wouldn't say much but the clichéd "It's all right." My mother would lie down with my and hug me for hours.
As I got older, Mom was more willing to discuss her feelings with me. We'd lay down together and stay up for hours, with her confiding in me her frustration and unhappiness with her husband. As I held her, she whispered, "If he didn't have the better job, I think I would divorce him."
"Would you look for a new husband?" I asked.
"I don't know. He'd have to be a decent, loving man," she whispered back.
"Like me?" I asked jokingly.
"You? You'd want to be your old mom's husband?"
My heart skipped a beat. I had almost revealed my secret incestuous fantasies! In a tone that I hoped was still light and joking, I answered, "Sure, why not? Would you like to be my wife?"
She snuggled me tighter and, in a tone that seemed almost serious, she said, "Yes."
My "marriage proposal" had taken place just before I left for my second year of college. When I finally went to college, I had a single room in the dorms, giving me the privacy to masturbate much more than I did at home. Her "yes" answer had filled my head with fantasies that had seemed crazy at the time. And they weren't just sexual fantasies. Fantasies of a life and a home with just her and me, together as husband and wife, became my obsession.
I remember very clearly the moment I got the phone call. I had just gotten back from an hour and twenty minute class. I hadn't been able to concentrate since my mother had been on my mind and I was horny. I had just laid down in my bed and reached under my pants when my phone rang. I sighed in frustration as I threw off my blanket and answered.
"Eddie?" It was my mom. Her voice was calm yet soft and breathless.
"Hi Mom. What's going on?"
"It's your father. He's dead. He had a heart attack." Her voice held no detectable sadness. Only confusion and a sense of being lost.
"I'll book a flight home. I'll be there as soon as possible."
"Okay, son," she said. "I love you."
"I love you too. Bye."
Many of you will think I'm terrible, and maybe I am, but my lust increased tenfold. The very next thing I did was whip off my pants and start jerking off. I beat my shaft mercilessly as images of my mother flashed in front of me. My mother bent down in front of me, her round pale ass in my face as I kissed her buttocks. My mother kneeling before me with my cock in her hand, my white cum splattered onto her pretty face. My mother as my girlfriend, making out with me in the backseat of the family car. My mother as my wife, her belly swelling with my unborn child. That last image made me hit my orgasm and several ropes of my seed shot out of my erect dick, arched through the air and splattered down on my bed, some of it landing on me.
The knowledge that my father was finally out of the picture aroused me to new heights. I had one of THOSE days, where you do nothing but lie around and masturbate. My mother was available. Fantasy had become possibility!
As I sat on the plane, for the first time in my life, I felt guilty about masturbating to my mother. Not because of that silly incest taboo but because I hadn't given any thought to how I would console her or what I would say to her. I thought about it for the entire plane ride and the cab ride from the airport.
When I arrived home, my mother, her face somber, pulled me into a hug. She let me go and, with a sad smile, said, "Come on in."
Setting down the single backpack that I'd brought, I looked around the house, not quite believing that my father was really gone. A thrill shot through my body as I realized that my mother and I were here alone like in my fantasies but it died down when I remembered my top priority. Find out what she was feeling.
"Are you..." I paused, unsure if I should continue. "Are you okay?"
