I came home and she was sleeping on the couch; she'd worked late the night before. She looked pretty as she slept, and sexy. Her skirt was hiked up enough to see some thigh and her tits were pressed together so that some of the creamy flesh appeared out of he blouse. I wanted to touch her, but I contented myself to sit and watch until she woke up. Memories and thoughts entertained me as my eyes stroked the body I found so exciting.
When she did awake and saw me watching her, she smiled widely and did a cat-like stretch. She opened her arms to beckon me and I went into her embrace. She said, "I missed you so much." She was warm from sleep and she kissed my neck as I felt her legs shift beside me. I could hardly hide my arousal. It would have been understandable to most people, if she weren't my mother.
From my reading and feelings, I had come to understand that there are many sons who are attracted to their mothers. There are many mothers who love their sons and would do almost anything for them. Making love physically is usually a barrier they can't cross. I had always wished that mine would be one of the few mothers whose love could transcend those bounds.
I said, "I missed you too mom," and my hand inched from her waist to get closer to the ample breast which seemed to be giving off a heat of its own. My story gets a bit entangled here so I'll start where the threads haven't intertwined yet, and the secrets began to surface.
My sexual awakening came early; actually having sex came late. There were some who were enjoying sex regularly in high school, but I wasn't one of them. Like most, I thought about it and talked about it all the time, mostly with my cousin Jimmy. He lived with my Aunt Lila two blocks from me. From the age of ten, we all did everything together, Lila and Jimmy, Mary and John. Death had brought us together.
My father and my uncle James were killed together in a car accident. I was ten and Jimmy was eleven; Lila and Mary were widowed at twenty-seven, fraternal twins, from birth to the death of their husbands. I remember vividly two things at the funeral, the too tight collar that were choking me, and how my mother looked in her black suit. My feelings for her were percolating at a level below my realization at that time. It would be years before I accepted the attraction at a conscious level.
I spent a lot of time listening to Jimmy talk about his dad, but I really couldn't empathize too much, because I never felt close to mine. I think the simplest and truest explanation was that we didn't like each other.
Through our adolescence, Jimmy and I dated together and separately, and we always shared our experiences. We'd gotten in to a few fights at school when we found out that some of the guys were calling our mothers, 'The Tit Sisters.' They were both pretty full up top and good looking in their own way, my mom was more the sweet next-door type, and Lila the tough and street-savvy one.
A few times I had hinted to Jimmy about my feelings for my mother and I could see that he got it. I never felt he was judging me, but we never said any of the real words out loud.
Jimmy started college a year before me, and that was when he stopped talking, and dating. I found out why a year later on the beach. We were lying there in the sun for hours, eyes closed, and talking, catching up on the time we'd spent apart. I was almost in a dream state from the heat and salt air. I was rambling and trying to understand why he had stopped going out. I was pushing him. We'd always been closer than brothers and I missed his confiding in me, because it kept me from discussing anything important with him.
Finally he said, "John, I've been with somebody." He made me ask a lot of questions before he gave it up. "Okay Johnny...I've been with my mother." Whack me across the fucking head. I was frying in the sun, but it felt like ice water was poured on me from head to toe.
All I could manage was "Get the fuck out of here." We put each other on sometimes, so I said it with a laugh, in case he were joking, he wouldn't have put it over on me.
"I'm fucking her John," is what he said, seriously. I was having trouble swallowing his words and my spit.
I finally managed to ask something like, "How...when?"
He said, "The night before I started at the university, remember the party?" I remembered; the four of us were pretty hammered. "We got home and we started kissing," he said. "We ended up in bed...John, I've been fucking her ever since."
I was astounded. "For a year, and you never said anything to me?" Why would he? He was sleeping with his mother. I didn't know what to say, so I uttered an inane, "What's it like?" The question probably made sense to me, since there I was, never having had sex at all, and now imagining it with my aunt.
Jimmy laughed, "It's great you prick, why do you think I'm doing it?" What I didn't say was, 'How could you do it with your own mother?' That's because, by that time, my mother was pretty much the one whom I was imagining having sex with most of the time.
One of my early fantasies was of my mother being the one to satisfy the ever-building frustration of going out with girls and being either too shy or unlucky to get much. Mom notices how unhappy I am and gets me to tell her the reason. She says something like, "Don't worry baby, you'll have plenty of girls, but until then, let momma take care of you." She gets on her knees and takes as much of my throbbing cock into her mouth as she can. She sucks me until a torrent of cum fires off and her mouth is filled to overflowing. She always smiles when she's done and tells me she loves me. At that time, even in my fantasy, I'm reluctant to fuck her.
When I was older and had a few serious relationships, mom was never far from my mind. I did some flirting with her, and at first, there were some receptive responses. We played around. As I got bolder, my hands lingered on her and she rebuffed me. She stopped playing. I never said anything but I was angry and frustrated. I wasn't very nice to her. I stopped talking to her and sometimes didn't come home at night. We fought over stupid things and finally I told her I was moving out. She said, "Why?"
I said, "To get away from you."
I was sorry immediately, but before I could apologize she said, "I know what you want, Johnny."
I laughed, "You don't know what I want."
Her expression was pained, "You want to sleep with me, don't you Johnny." It wasn't a question. I didn't say anything. She said, "You can't punish me for something I just can't do. I know what this is all about and where it comes from. I love you sweetheart, but I can't have sex with you. I'm not Lila, Johnny."
I was surprised. "You know?"
