My senior year of high school was similar to most people's. In other words, it sucked. Classes were harder, my girlfriend broke up with me, and I stressed over what to do once I graduated. College didn't appeal to me, but neither did learning a trade. The thought of working at a fast food place demoralized me.
Rock bottom came with my senior prom. I went out a couple times with other girls since my breakup, but it seemed either I liked them but they didn't like me, or they liked me but I wasn't interested.
Out of desperation, I asked a couple girls to Prom who weren't really my type, but they already had dates. The only girls left, I didn't feel interested in. I didn't want to ask a girl who was likely to latch on and think we were going together, but I didn't want to go stag, either.
My mother understood and was a big help. "You don't have to go," she said. "If you're not going to have fun, Tommy, then why put yourself through it?" Mom hadn't gone out much since my father left and she came up with a better idea. "The two of us can go out to dinner that night," she said. "Somewhere nice. We'll have drinks at home, then go out. We'll make an event of it."
It was such a relief knowing I didn't have to worry about Prom or what anyone else thought. I gave my mom a big hug and thanked her.
Dating my mother seemed like a weird notion, but actually, she was a lot of fun to be around. She had a great sense of humor and I'd rather spend an evening with her than someone who bored me.
As the day got closer, I actually looked forward to spending the evening out with my mother. She looked young for forty and could easily pass for early thirties. Beyond that, I never thought much about her looks. After all, she was my mother. But now that she was my Prom date, I did start noticing. She had a nice figure with long slender legs and C cups, and her smile always lit up a room. What girl at school could top that?
A couple nights before our "date," Mom modeled a new outfit she got for the occasion. It was a red dress with a plunging neckline to show off her awesome cleavage. She wore red stockings and spun around to give me the full effect. I felt a slight tingling in my pants and for the first time, I saw her as a sexy, attractive woman rather than just my mother.
I gave her a big hug, then without thinking, I kissed her on the lips. She pressed her lips to mine and our tongues met before it sunk on what I was doing.
"Oh my god, I'm sorry," I said. I spun away and sat on the sofa. "I don't know where that came from." I felt a bulge in my pants and folded my hands in my lap in a vain attempt to cover it up.
Mom tried not to look at me, the same way I tried not to gawk at her cleavage. "Relax, Tommy," she said. "It's okay. It was a kiss, that's all. It's been a long time since either of us have had a good kiss. So it happened."
Once my hardon subsided, I leaned back on the sofa. I wondered if my mother would join me there and who knows, kiss some more? Or let me explore her tantalizing breasts?
But of course that was just my imagination running wild and taking over my thinking for a moment. Mom left to her bedroom and five minutes later she was back wearing sweats.
That night in bed, I jerked off thinking about my mother. It occurred to me that if she was a neighbor, or even a teacher, rather than my mom, I would have fantasized about her a long time ago.
I know she had been struggling after my father left us, feeling lonely and doubting herself, even though they had drifted apart for years before the divorce. There was always tension around the house when he was around. With him gone, things were so much better. The more distance Mom put from the divorce, the more relaxed and spontaneous she became.
One night the week before Prom, Mom slipped into my bed without a word and snuggled up behind me. There was nothing sexual. No kissing. No lewd touching, just a growing hardon in my shorts I couldn't control. I felt Mom breathing on my neck, with an arm draped over me.
It wasn't the first time she climbed into bed with me, but always with some distance. With Mom in bed with me, it was the most peaceful, serene moment we had in a long time. I took the arm she had draped over me and savored the moment. "I love you," I heard her whisper to me. I turned over and draped my arm around her. She took my arm like I had taken hers. "I love you too, Mom."
When I woke up that morning, I heard Mom in her shower. I was so tempted to join her, but I feared her pushing me away and I would lose the kissing and snuggling I enjoyed lately. And I thought about love -- not the emotions running rampant but seeing this from her side, the risk she faced if people found out she slept in her son's bed, that we went on dates together, that even though we kept our lust under control, at least for now, our desires were ever present.
"How did you sleep last night," Mom asked over breakfast?
"I enjoyed snuggling with you. I felt safe and relaxed."
I thought one day about the three types of kisses and how Mom and I seemed to be progressing through them. There was the mother kiss on the forehead, the sloppy lust kiss with lots of tongue, and the romantic, tender love kiss. I was enjoying them all because even a kiss on the forehead from Mom was a reminder of our love. As for the sloppy lust kisses, those were the best -- and the worst. When Mom came to bed with me and we kissed sloppy and deep, my cock would get rock hard. Mom would brush her hands around it while we kissed, and she would let me caress her breast without stopping me.
That was great. What sucked was that after a few minutes of deep kissing and minor groping, she would bolt from the room leaving me with a hard cock and my right hand. It felt tenuous, that Mom would come to her senses at any time and pull back. Maybe she'd meet someone her own age to go out with. But I could tell she thought the same way about me, wondering if I would start dating again with girls my age. I savored every touch, every kiss, every caress, and every "accidental" touch where her breasts would rub against my arm, or my cock got too hard to hide.
One Saturday morning, when I had no school and Mom had no work, I woke up with her still in my bed.
"Good morning," she said, rubbing my chest and smiling lustfully at me. I wanted to pull her on top of me and I suspected she wouldn't have put up a fight if I did. But then what? Was I really ready to make love with my mother? Was she ready to make love with her son? We were spending more time together, going out to dinner, taking day trips, or just staying in watching television and snuggling.
The night of Prom was fun, more fun than if I had taken a date from school. Mom was so sexy in her dress and stockings and she looked so much hotter than any school girl. We had a great dinner, and we went to a movie, holding hands like schoolkids.
That night we laid in bed and talked late into the morning. At one point, my head ended up between her breasts. I felt the fleshy softness and smelled a hint of the perfume she wore that night. I took my hand and pulled back her top and started sucking on her tits. It felt natural, and Mom allowed it to happen, rubbing her hand through my hair while I sucked on one tit, and I caressed the other. Hearing Mom moan softly made my cock rock hard. Mom groaned louder and spread her legs. I maneuvered between her and started dry humping her.
After a minute, she said "No," and put her hands on my shoulders, gently pushing me back. "I'm sorry, but we can't. I want you so badly, but we can't. I hope you understand."
I did understand that we couldn't go any further, but it was difficult watching her walk away. I woke up alone the next morning. Mom came back, showered and dressed.
"About what happened last night," she said. "I love you so much. Every day I'm realizing more and more what love is, how I never had that with your father, what I feel for you. You're only eighteen, but you're already more of a man than your father was. But you are also my son. There is such a beautiful connection between mother and child, yet there are certain lines that cannot be crossed."
Those few moments of bliss would stay with me, what her tits felt like, how she moaned. For the next several days, I jerked off remembering what my mother felt like, sounded like, tasted like.
