Finally Having Mommy Ch 01

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.

The turning point was one afternoon when my Dad was away playing golf and Shelli was in the kitchen, at the counter preparing dinner. I was in the hallway watching her, transfixed by the way her firm, high breast and hard nipples fought to escape the confines of her blouse when she moved about the kitchen. As Shelli stood at the sink, I quietly came up behind her and lovingly cupped her breasts in my hands. She moaned and leaned back against my chest, initially surprised by the caress, but not fearful assuming my Dad had gotten back early and was now fondling her in prelude to sex.

My hand moved from her breast downward and slipped between her legs seeking the wetness of her increasing arousal. I bent over her and in a throaty, low voice whispered into her ear, "I love you." I felt her grind down against my hand as I pulled the crotch of her panties aside and I grinned broadly when she whimpered at her growing pleasure. "Oh Shelli, I want to be inside you, to love you," I said. Suddenly, her body stiffened, realizing what I had said and that it was not my Dad behind her, but her son, manhandling her pussy. She turned, pushing me away and stared silently at me before running out of the kitchen.

Had I been wrong? I honestly thought she had felt the chemistry between us and I foolishly assumed that once everything was in the open our life together could begin. I hadn't meant to frighten her, but I was so caught up in my need for her that I hadn't fully realized what I was capable of doing and had pushed too hard and thoughtlessly.

I wanted to apologize, to explain but Shelli avoided me like the plague that evening and into the next day. Knowing it could not continue the way it was, after another day, I reluctantly decided it was time I left and did so without having a chance to speak with Shelli. I had no idea where I was going to go or what I was going to do and eventually took a friend up on his offer and moved in with him. After a lot of thought, I enlisted in the Marines and within a few months headed off to boot camp.

*****

I continued to try to get Shelli to talk with me. I started writing to her during the torturous boot camp all recruits are subjected to, but she never responded, and I began to feel my efforts were pointless. Then one day in the mail, weeks later, there was a letter from Shelli. She told me that she at first couldn't bring myself to read or answer my letters, but had kept all of them hidden away so my Dad wouldn't find them.

She said she was sorry for not acknowledging my earlier letters and phone calls, but the guilt from what had happened that day in the kitchen was overwhelming, and she quietly withdrew from everything. We went through a thoughtful, deliberate process that progressed from letters to text and finally phone calls and we were slowly able to piece our relationship back together. We began to talk, cautiously to bare our souls and eventually the ties of trust and love were reestablished.

Feeling gradually more confident, during one Facetime session, Shelli confessed, "I was taken by surprise that afternoon in the kitchen, frightened by my response to you. Later, I tried to convince myself that I thought it was your Dad groping and finger fucking me, but I think I suspected it was you all along, and God help me I didn't care. I let myself enjoy what you were doing even though I knew it was wrong and perverted."

"I've always had a special feeling for you. Even though I never told you," Shelli continued, "we were always close, intimate friends, never really Mother and son."

"Did you know that your Dad wanted you to hear him having sex with me?" she said almost as an afterthought. "You never said or showed your feelings, but I believe that somehow he sensed it angered you. I think he recognized the closeness we had and took his resentment out on you."

From then on, Shelli and I spoke several times a week and through a lot of soul-searching, acknowledged our feelings. To my disappointment, Shelli felt the relationship could never become physical. Incest was something that she could never accept. Despite her feelings for me, she seemed adamant that it was our Mother/son relationship that was most important to her.

In my heart, while I knew our feelings were reciprocal, what could I do but go along with her wishes?

*****

Shelli had friends in the San Diego area, so under the pretext of visiting them, she came to see me while I was in the second half of my training in San Diego. She drove to the base one weekend and met me for lunch. Despite my promise to keep our relationship strictly mother and son, I felt my cock twitch and jerk when she came through the door of the restaurant.

She was stunning, a beautiful woman; not beautiful in an overblown way, but she had a classic, subtle beauty that seemed never to age.

The last thing on my mind was that she was my Mother. All I saw or cared about was that she was a fucking, desirable woman. Her Shoulder length brown hair with auburn highlights haloed about her face, emphasizing her large, dark green eyes, long dark lashes, and sensual pouty mouth. She wore it loose, falling over her shoulders and when she talked or moved her head, she would sensually toss her hair out of her face. I had to resist the urge to run my fingers through the soft, thick auburn waves. Mesmerized, I watched the subtle sway of her hips and the bounce of her breasts as she walked, and was suddenly gripped by the thought of suckling at her breast.

I got up and walked across the room to greet her.

"Damn, you're beautiful," I said taking her into my arms and kissing her hard and hungrily, having forgotten all of my promises and resolutions. During lunch, I caught myself looking at her longingly, and could feel the growing erection between my legs becoming more and more uncomfortable. As we sat there, I listened to her talking and laughing and knew that sooner than later I was going to have her and she would come to me willingly. Granted I had been the instigator, not her and knew she was trying very hard not to cross the incest line. Though the emotional and sexual desires were strong and demanding, I knew she eventually would surrender and allow our happiness to take root and flourish.

Contrary to her wish to maintain a mother/son relationship, after that visit in San Diego, we continued to talk and began sharing sexual intimacies (directed masturbation, phone sex, etc.). I did not see Shelli in person again until a year later when I came home on leave.

*****

I eagerly conjured up nasty thoughts about her the whole flight from North Carolina. Hell, at one point I had to cover my lap with one of the in-flight blankets to conceal my swollen, stiff hard-on that threatened to burst through my jeans. In the darkened plane with a couple of other passengers sleeping around me, I unzipped, closed my eyes and jerked until I quietly came into a crumpled corner of the blanket, all the while thinking of Shelli, wishing I was cumming inside her.

Finally, the plane landed, and Shelli was to meet me out in front of Terminal. I nearly fell over another passenger as I hurried down the aisle with my carry-on bag. It was all I could do to contain my nervousness and excitement as I almost ran down the Terminal 1 connector, skirting around people trying to get to the outside passenger pickup area as fast as I could.

When I exited the Terminal, I saw her through the crowd of people. She stood next to a little silver-colored BMW, frantically waving trying to get my attention. Slim and tanned, her lustrous hair pulled back into a ponytail and tied with of all things a yellow ribbon. The skinny jeans hugged her ass from the rear and created a faint camel toe between her legs. The loose, V-necked tee shirt she wore only served to highlight her braless breasts and nipples. She looked like a girl in her twenties, instead of a woman in her thirties.

I walked toward her, hugged her and kissed her, intoxicated by her taste and smell. Without saying a word, I took the car keys out of her hand and opened the passenger door for her. Walking around to the driver's side and I started up the car and pulled into traffic.

"Where are we going?" She asked but I didn't respond, and we continued to drive for another fifteen minutes.

"Why are we stopping her?" She questioned, looking curiously around the parking lot of the Airport Radisson.

"We're going to have dinner and then stay the night here," I said, in a firm voice that did not brooch contradiction. She sat in surprised but silent acquiescence.

After registering at the front desk, I led Shelli into the bar and ordered each of us a drink. Sitting down at a secluded table, I took her hands in mine and looked into her eyes for a long time before I reached across, and caressed her face.

"What you want to do is wrong . . . you know that don't you?" She said with a shaky voice.

"No, I don't know that, and it's not wrong! We're not hurting anyone; I said unintentionally sounding angry. I love you, I've always loved you, the way a man loves a woman. We've waited long enough, and our feelings are stronger than ever."

"Let me love you, Shelli," I said as I leaned over the table and kissed her, letting my tongue slip between her soft, pink lips exploring, possessing.