Written in honour of a currently retired Lit author and virtual pen pal who wrote a lot for this category some years ago. I devote this sleep-deprived fever dream to you, dear author, who demanded that I keep his name out of my filthy goat mouth.
Disclaimer: Both characters are over the age of 18. Especially the mum. She is a lot over the age of 18. Hands up who didn't see that curveball coming...
I WISH HE KNEW
1.
As far as I was concerned I was his biggest fan and had been for longer than he could have known. That might seem a strange thing for the fifty year old fan of an exciting new writer of erotica to be saying.
I didn't randomly discover him on Literotica. With his true identity hidden, his user profile only hinting his age range and location, and nothing else other than hobbies and interests that could have belonged to most males his age, how could I have known?
He had written eight stories within the space of seven months, all back in 2020, and then three more stories published recently as it was clear he could not quit his favourite subject, even if he had gone AWOL trying his best to escape the temptation to delve deeper.
Well, that favourite subject was his and mine both...
Incest. Mother and son sex stories.
I just wanted to say hello.
Hello and thank you.
2.
I have been an avid reader of Literotica content for nigh on thirteen years. My favourite kinds of stories were pretty tame back in the beginning. I liked 'Loving Wives,' 'Erotic Couplings,' and the occasional 'Group Sex' story too if I was feeling particularly wild. My personal life didn't mirror this at all.
For the longest time my wayward teenage son Dylan was my absolute priority, namely keeping him on the straight and narrow through high school, and then helping him claw back some semblance of an education by kicking his arse through the front doors of the local college.
As much as I continued to care of myself, my mind, my body, and my needs in life once my son had finally gone out into the world to make something of himself, the prospect of finally finding love didn't only grow all the more unrealistic as men failed to win my affections.
I wasn't used to having time alone, having privacy, having a whole home to myself. Quite frankly it didn't take a transformation on my part to learn to like it either. I hadn't really had a youth of my own. Being able to do as I pleased, finally having a peaceful corner that I could resort to in times of stress became the godsend I'd always needed.
So pretty much whenever I wasn't rushing around like a blue-arse fly maintaining an income I could actually live off now that I didn't have two mouths to feed,
Partially as a result of this I never felt the need for more than a faithful friend with benefits here and there. I still wanted to feel sexy, desirable, and just about sexually sated enough to keep a focus on enjoying the single life I'd grown so accustomed to.
If somebody particularly special had come along and shown interest, don't get me wrong, I'd have been ready and willing to give them a good run for their money. It just never worked out that way, and I wasn't worried about it.
I wonder if that contributed to how, as I edged toward my mid-forties, my favourited stories had taken on a more adventurous and provocative flavour. Maybe I'd just grown wild as no real-world prospect promised the kind of love life or sexual gratification I sought in my favourite stories.
When the same old vanilla themes were replaced by salacious first time lesbian fantasies, I didn't have the guts to explore in real life that side of myself. Frankly the women offering me such a good time not only scared me, they came across like so many male blowhards who'd proven good for nothing but their own narcissistic vanity.
When those old vanilla themese were also replaced also by stories of men engaging in gay sex, there wasn't a parallel I could draw. I don't know why that turns me on, but sometimes it just twists my faucet setting to a warm steady dribble.
But when I found myself turned on by stories of mothers and sons mutually consenting to sex with each other, there was no going back. The reaction my body and soul gave to those sultry daydreams were like nothing else, ever.
And I was never finding excitement like that in the real world without willingly going down dark paths. I guess that just became an inevitability once I was so far down the rabbit hole...
3.
I might not make the best life decisions by myself but I am not completely daft. I knew going in that there is the possibility of somebody knowing my name and then that there is a probability. Sod's Law - no matter how low the chances, time narrows everything down into a deadly accurate and inescapable needle-point of consequence.
I created an email account almost immediately after Dylan found work and left him, just for the more private stuff, erotic content and dating profiles and the likes, stuff which would still never see the light of day long after.
My email username was the same as my Lit account name, for consistency's sake. So when I decided to fill in the feedback form for 'Ode2Lofn' he would see that I was the same 'SodsLaw' who had commented on several of his works.
One evening I was done reading his last adventure. This one began with an argument between a mother and son after the funeral of the son and father, after the son grew paranoid about a man making inappropriate advances toward her, acting too close for comfort, and confronted him.
The bombshell came some weeks after his mother's apology. The man was a friend of she and her late husband. Swingers. His parents were swingers...
With a hilariously absurd approach to suspension of disbelief - are these stories really any better when they're "believable?" - the mother depressed by the end of her marriage and exciting sex life proposed that her son accompany her to one of her old haunts as her au pair. He would go down a storm with the women who attend those things. She'd know!
The son accepted, and they decided there was no need for ground rules other than to maintain for the sake of safety that the son was his mother's FWB and not related. Some things just went without saying. On the night, the son met his mother's swinger friend again, and they swapped, in the same room, sparking a lightning bolt of revelatory thoughts and feelings in both mother and son.
They continued to attend these swinger nights, which became more daring, putting them almost directly in each other's firing line, until one night they dared to commit a brief but irreversible sex act to the excited approval of their swap partners.
In the heat of the moment the son's swap partner goes down on his mother while he holds her thighs apart, and then compelled with little need for encouragement he tastes the juices straight from her lips in a feverish kiss.
The story ended with no actual sex between them, but with a dead certainty that all it would now take was the gentlest push for them to cross the line.
And how racily expressed it was that they both so wanted to!
4.
Hi from SodsLaw, I began;
Just finished reading 'Swings & Roundabouts.' As a longtime fan of gangbang stories, I was shattered and shaking by the end. As a single mother and a huge fan of your mother-son incest stories also, I felt very connected to Lizzie's emotional state the moment the fuse was lit by that one unexpected act.
If you never write a follow-up to that story, my imagination will happily fill in the blanks. But I would love to know, if you have the time, how you manage to write such a subject with the depth and heart that you do.
5.
A few hours shy of day passed before I returned to my private emails earlier the next evening. I had given thought many times throughout the workday to whether I'd get a response, and if so what kind of response would I get?
I had written to a fair amount of seemingly likeminded writers over the years, often to discover that they were retired and here to relieve boredom, or that they were not as charming or as chatty as their characters. In many cases they never bothered to reply at all.
One writer, who went by the name of 'PanzerFeck,' had been very welcoming and engaging, and yet I was very surprised to learn that his sizeable body of scorching mother-son incest stories had been written in the throes of great depressions and that he sometimes regretted writing them.
Well he seemed more than fine with the email roleplay that followed. Filthy bastard that one!
Sometimes I liked to swap the odd photo with a roleplayer to heat things up. At the age of fifty I'm still very comfortable with my body. I don't mind that I'm smack-bang in between MILF and GILF. I've been likened to famed TV chef Nigella Lawson. I'd like her lack of wrinkles but I like the silver fox vibes I let off with my natural hair.
I mostly just trim down there. I like the added friction. I like to feel the bustle in my hedgerow. Plus it really highlights the sensuousness of my prominent fleshy pink pussy lips. They're something to really dive into and make a meal of, no vajazzle necessary.
Anyway, yes... 'Ode2Lofn's reply...
6.
Dear SodsLaw;
Thank you so much for your feedback. The overall response has been good so far but I am positively overwhelmed that a mother and fan of my stories was so deeply affected the way you described. It brings me great pleasure to bring my readers great pleasure, so I am all the more grateful that you reached out to say so.
To answer your key question, I am not sure where to begin. I got into reading incest stories on Lit over five years ago. When I was bored out of my mind in lockdown, 2020, I didn't care as much for what other authors were writing, so I decided to try my hand at it.
Years of fantasising about my own mother, whom I love and respect more than she probably knows, having a fussy standard for MILF porn, and reading only the best stories here really seemed to work in my favour. I had all the time in the world to daydream.
