Merry Christmas, Literotica readers! Here is my Christmas present to you...maybe the single longest incest themed story I've ever posted (not however a Christmas themed story). Partially re-adapted from my old "Neighborhood Moms" series on another site years and years ago..expanded and reworked to create a good (maybe a tad blasphemous) story. I look forward to hearing your comments.
As always, this is a work of fiction and all characters within are simply figments of my over-fertile imagination. Enjoy!
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This is a story of a mother and a son, but it is also a story within a story and that too is about a mother and a son. Over the years, I've tried to make sense and reconcile my faith with what happened. I know that society as a whole and Christians specifically find more than a little justification for vilifying us and our acts, but in the end, there was only love that was shared and I cannot see that any real harm was done. In the end there was truth and love and faith and those combine to create something magical and special...or dare I say it aloud, it -- we, created something holy.
There are many places where I could start my tale -- as I have already said, this is a story within a story. I think, perhaps, it is best to start in the Fall of 1980. It was an election year and anyone with half a brain could see that Uncle Ronnie was going to win the election. Times were tough...gas prices were high and so was unemployment. I felt myself fortunate to be a student at the local college -- still living at home while I worked towards a degree in psychology.
I was the only child of Jeffrey and Candace Hilton. Dad was an engineer with a local car parts manufacturer and spent most of his time in Detroit or at one of the Big Three's outlying factory sites. He was an absentee father and husband. I didn't much mind -- Dad was like one of the machines he designed...cold and aloof and very exacting. I think he got married and fathered a child because he was designed to. I guess he loved us in his own way, but it was a cold love...unfeeling and without depth.
Mom was the total opposite. She was devoted to Dad and me, working hard both as a breadwinner working as a paralegal and as a wife and mother. Mom was the one to make our home a generally happy place whether Dad was there or not. Dad's indifference to us both hurt her in many ways...some of her pain I recognized on a daily basis -- some of it I only began to comprehend as I matured. Mom sought solace in the Church -- a rather middle of the road Baptist Church. Mom wasn't an ardent Christian, but she enjoyed the companionship that the Women's Missionary Society offered and at least two or three times a week was helping out with the mission work and food pantry as well as the required Bible study.
Me...I was still a member of the church even though my faith wasn't nearly as strong as Mom's. Oh, I still usually attended Sunday morning services with Mom (and Dad if he was in town). I found Reverend Walker's sermons dry and humorless -- focusing more on sin than salvation, but going to services had other bonuses -- the top of the list being Mrs. Walker -- Gwen Marie Walker to be specific. The fact that her son, Kent was one of my closest friends did not detract from the thought that she ranked right up there as one of my biggest masturbatory fantasies!
I must confess right now that ever since I remember having sexual desires, I have had a thing for older ladies...what would be called a couple of decades later -- a MILF. And right at the top of my list was Gwen Walker. In her early forties at that point, she was a tall and very buxom woman with the bluest eyes and cornstalk colored hair that came down to her shoulders and did a little flip. Her native Texas twang sounded a little exotic in blah Western Ohio and only enhanced her attractiveness.
Many a Sunday for years, I had struggled with a hard-on during services while constantly glancing at that gorgeous preacher's wife. No conservative dress could hide or mute the size of her meaty breasts that swelled out from her chest -- nor could it conceal the curvy nature of her full and shapely butt. I rarely saw more of her legs than from the knees down, but I suspected that her trim ankles reflected a pair of long and shapely legs which I would again and again jerk off to imagining them spread wide for me, her hands raised up to beckon me to her.
There were others at church that I fantasized about...Mrs. Anna Torino...a sultry Italian American in her fifties, Mrs. Talbert who'd been my Sunday School teacher for most of my childhood, Ms. Grantham and Ms Dobbs who I didn't know at the time were two lesbians in a committed relationship -- not that that would have ended my fantasies about them, rather I imagine it would have increased my focus on them. Still in church, it was Gwen Walker that captured my imagination...the only real rival for her in my fantasy world being my mother.
Yes, you heard me correctly. It was Mom who'd given birth to my MILF tendencies when I was a teenager and why not? Mom was and is the most beautiful woman I know. Long, luxurious mahogany colored hair, a lean, yet voluptuous body with large breasts you just want to reach out and squeeze -- a narrow waist, toned hips and legs that seemed to go on forever. In my rather prejudiced opinion, there wasn't an inch of her five foot, ten inch frame that wasn't perfect. Mom was the first woman I masturbated over and would be the subject of my fantasies for the rest of my life.
But, Gwen Walker would be a close second. Mature women...YUM!
Anyway, back to the story... It was a Thursday in October in the Fall of 1980, late afternoon and I was studying in the living room, Springsteen's "The River" on the stereo and my psych notes spread out all around me, prepping for a mid-term when Mom came into the house, apparently in a hurry as the front door banged against the doorstop when she flung it open, throwing her purse and jacket into an empty chair as she crossed the room to the small bar she and Dad maintained (despite being church goers, my parents were not teetotalers). Mom was dressed in a pantsuit which stretched nicely across her backside and I added a mental snapshot of her lovely ass to the thousands already residing in my mind as she bent over and retrieved a bottle of bourbon and poured herself a stiff drink.
She turned abruptly in mid-drink to catch me ogling her. As she narrowed her eyes at me, I tried to cover my staring by voicing in a concerned tone, "Mom, is everything alright?"
Mom started to speak and then paused, looking at me oddly...almost as if she was just meeting me for the first time. She opened her mouth and said in a soft and strained voice, "No...I...I don't know. I was wondering...what you...I." She stopped and shook her head, several emotions playing across her lovely face. "I cannot discuss this right now, John. I need a while to...sort things out."
She poured herself another drink and picked it up and continued. "I'm going upstairs and taking a bath. We need to talk...later. Don't go out." That last was said in what I knew from long experience was her "Do not fuck with me" voice.
I nodded and said, "Okay...I need to study anyway." I watched her cross the room, still ogling her fine body, admiring the way her silk blouse pulled tight against her breast in profile when she turned back when I said, "Am I in some sort of trouble?"
Mom started to say something, but shook her head instead and marched out of the room. I listened to her high heels on the stairs and then a moment later, her door opening and slamming shut. I found it difficult to study after that, wondering what I might have done to have upset her so. I ran through the usual list. I was pretty sure she hadn't found my small stash of marijuana hidden the hollow of my old Nova's steering wheel. I hadn't been in trouble with the law since I'd got caught doing '85' in a '45' miles an hour zone my senior year in high school and my grades at the university while not spectacular, were at least respectable. I thought about it for a long while before it occurred to me that it was Thursday and that she would have come home from her Women's Bible Study class. A knot of dreadful cold announced its presence in the pit of my stomach and I wondered if my greatest secret had come out.
Two hours passed and the sun was low on the horizon as I put aside my notes and textbook and turned on the television, sitting in the gloom without any lights on and hearing all the fallout from the failed rescue mission in Iran and how with it, any last chance for Carter to be re-elected was out the window.
