Mother/son physical love however defined very often involves soul-mates destined to oneness.
As a boy matures into a man, he recognizes this oneness and eventually realizes his deep emotional and physical desires. He tries to ignore and then to resist his feelings, but it is a futile endeavor and over the years, the urges, the yearnings grow stronger until they can no longer be denied.
******
Incest.
Beautiful, satisfying, consensual incest.
We knew what we were doing, what we were getting into, but the need and desire to love each other that way, to make each other whole was inevitable and undeniable.
When it became apparent what was happening between us, I felt guilt and shame at my lustful thoughts. To assuage the guilt and to understand better the incestuous feelings, I went online and found a chat group that helped me tremendously. I discovered that consensual incest though not an everyday occurrence happens more often than we think. It happens at all social and economic levels, typically male/female (father/daughter, brother/sister, and uncle/niece). These consensual unions are often indistinguishable from the tone, temperament, and emotions expressed between any man and woman engaged in an emotional and physical love affair.
Though incestuous female/male relationships sometimes happen between mother and son, what was unusual about our eventual mating is that I was the instigator and not my Mother. I sometimes think I may have taken advantage of the stressful, unhappy situation she was in at that time that left her so vulnerable. Emotionally insecure, lonely, verbally and sexually abused by my Dad (actually, my stepdad), she needed someone, and I was more than happy to be that "someone". We both recognized our feelings early on; the relationship developed slowly, but when it did finally reach fruition, we were both ready to actualize our love, despite societal mores and taboos.
There came a time when I stopped calling her Mom. I'm not sure why, but I do know it didn't feel right calling her Mom anymore. I recognized that the name Mom did not express my feelings toward her. She was a friend, a companion, an erotic ideal, someone whose soul touched mine. From that point on, she was Shelli (short for Rochelle), and despite the reprimands about disrespect and inappropriateness from both she and my Dad, she was Shelli to me.
*****
Despite my parent's shaky, dysfunctional marriage and constant bickering about having another child (Mom was adamant about not becoming pregnant again, but he was just as adamant about getting her pregnant), I grew up an only child in a privileged, affluent home, and community. Dad was the owner of a large, prosperous architectural firm and Mom, having come from a well to do background spent her time in charity/volunteer work and the small design business she had started.
I think they were in love when they first married, but that all seemed to change by the time I started school. One incident that stands out in my mind and illustrates their relationship. I must have been five or six and about to start kindergarten, and was still being breastfed. I vaguely remember her holding me tightly in her arms one afternoon as my Dad ranted at her that I was too old to be sucking her tits.
"The boy will be starting school soon," he told her.
"Do you want him going to school crying and whining for his Momma's tittie? Hell, if you want someone to suck your tits, I can take care of that for you," he said with a nasty smirk on his face.
I wouldn't enjoy that closeness with her again until I was a grown man. Despite almost a week of tears and following her around the house, she would not let me nurse. She would occasionally relent, pick me up and hold me to her, but sufficiently browbeaten, she would no longer offer me her tit. I started hating my Dad then; this was entirely his fault.
*****
Mom was very young when I was born. She had been seduced and impregnated by of all people her tutor. He knocked her up the night of her eighteenth birthday party. While friends and relatives were downstairs enjoying birthday cake and punch, the tutor was upstairs in her parent's huge four poster bed energetically taking Mom's virginity. When he found out she was pregnant, he said he would marry her, but Grandfather wasn't having that. My Grandfather felt the tutor had taken advantage of Mom to weasel his way into the family and sent him packing. He gave him a substantial check and the tutor hit the road never to be seen or heard from again.
When Mom began to show her pregnancy, my Grandparents debated and argued about sending her away until after the baby was born, but eventually decided to keep her and the baby at home with them. During those early years growing up with her parent's, Mom and I were more like siblings, the older sister and her little brother.
After I had turned two years old, Mom married and despite her parents' objections, took me with her when she moved with her new husband to a different town halfway across the state. With a monetary gift from Mom's Dad, her husband was able to set up a small architectural firm that eventually became a prosperous and well-respected business.
As I grew older, the relationship between Shelli and I became closer and stronger. Even in my childish way, I was protective of Shelli, and though I didn't quite understand, I could see my Dad was not always kind to her. Within a few years of their marriage, I sensed Mom's unhappiness, and now in hindsight, I know she tried to hide that sadness from me.
My Dad was quite a few years older than Mom was. He was a brusque, impatient womanizer who made no apologies for his behavior. I can remember as a little boy, seeing her cry because of something he might have said or done to her and I would want to comfort her.
"Mommy, don't cry," I would tell her, "I'm right here Mommy, I'll take care of you." She would laugh and hold me tight and everything would be okay. Sometimes when they argued, he would storm out of the house, and I would cautiously go into their bedroom and find her sitting in the big armchair near the garden window.
"Mommy? Mommy?" I would tentatively call. Eventually, she would snap out of her dark reverie and open her arms for me to climb into her lap. I loved when she invited me to cuddle in her lap. Sometimes she would unbutton her blouse and give me her tit. It was a bonding time. There was no longer any milk to nourish me physically, but the emotional closeness was something we both needed and found comforting. Knowing how my Dad felt she kept this as our secret, until one day she gently pulled me from her breast and explained that I was not a baby anymore, but a big boy.
"I'm afraid your Daddy was right, she said. My sweetheart is getting too old to cuddle in Mommy's lap."
I looked at her hurt and confused, knowing that our special times together had ended. Little did I know or imagine that in future years she would again hold me to her breast and offer me her tit, enjoying the sensation of my warm, moist mouth sucking her hard, erect nipple, the only difference being I would be a grown man.
*****
At eighteen, I already towered over my Mom. I was 6'1" to her 5'5" and outweighed her by over a hundred pounds. Because of my size and build, I gave the impression of being older than I was; thick dark hair, ruggedly attractive features, buffed, athletic body, I was a healthy young male in his prime. When we were out together, it was not unusual that people sometimes mistook us for boyfriend and girlfriend instead of mother and son. This occasional misunderstanding embarrassed Shelli, but not me. I remember a waitperson once commenting on what an attractive couple we were; Shelli blushed a bright red and immediately began to correct the misunderstanding. I quickly cut her off, saying, "thank you" to the complementing server. The server winked and then grinned broadly as I dropped my arm across Shelli's shoulders letting my hand casually brush over her nipple causing it to become erect and visible under her blouse.
From the outside, life seemed good, but things weren't always, as they seemed. I quickly came to realize that my Dad was an insufferable bastard with a weakness for other women. The man loved sex, maybe even needed sex, and despite his collection of eager sluts, he still wanted "it" with Shelli. Perhaps out of a need for control, dominance or possession, he found immense sexual satisfaction when he fucked my mother. On more than one occasion, I would hear him come into the house and noisily, sometimes drunkenly amble down the hall to their bedroom. I seethed with anger and antagonism when I heard their muffled voices, his loud and demanding, her's placating and submissive, and then the silence when she would give in to him. I irrationally felt resentment toward her for submitting to him, despite her knowing that his dick had been inside another woman's pussy, mouth or ass just hours before. I think she put up with this behavior because, in her dysfunctional way, she loved him, but still . . . her acquiescence angered me.
As my Dad's business continued to grow and prosper, his absence from home on business trips also increased. Shelli and I found ourselves being thrown together often and for extended periods. During that time alone with her, I began to acknowledge and understand the inappropriateness of my feelings, and the realization that I couldn't always control them. I started "accidentally" brushing my hand or arm across her nipples, touching her breast, innocently caressing her thigh when we were seated next to each other, even standing so close to her that my cock rubbed against her ass or hip, things like that. Amidst profuse apologies once or twice, I managed to walk in on her while she was showering or dressing. If Shelli ever suspected anything, she never let on, but always smiled at the accidental intimacies and reassured me that no harm was done. As far as Shelli was concerned, these incidents, the touching and invasions of personal privacy were to be expected in any household. Sadly, within another year or so I had endured the frustration, guilt, and conflicting emotions about as long as I could.
Not being able to express my feelings to her, I allowed my lust for her to get the better of me. It was driving me crazy knowing she was having sex with my Dad. I knew things were getting out of hand when I started going through her lingerie drawer and selecting a pair of her panties to wrap around my cock as I masturbated.
