His nightly routine, Jason pulled his binder of erotic, incestuous stories about his mother, out from beneath his mattress to read his stories, while masturbating and thinking about his mother naked. After having already written his Nude Day story, he needed something new to write about his mother, a new incestuous story, but what? He's written so many. He's written them all, My Drunken Mother Forces Me to Have Sex with Her, Videotaping My Mother Undressing, Watching My Mom Masturbating, Helping My Mother Take a Bath, Taking my Mom to my Prom and to my Bed, Mom Gives Me a Birthday Blowjob, and his new favorite, Mom Strips Naked for Nude Day.
Maybe if he sleeps on it, after he comes home from his college class, he'll start writing a new story. No longer in the mood to masturbate, but more in the mood to think about his next story to write, he stuffed the binder back beneath his mattress and went to sleep. All the next day, already having some ideas in mind, Jason couldn't wait to go home to start his new story about his mother.
"Mom! I'm home. Where are you?"
"I'm up here in your room, Jason," said Elizabeth to her son dryly.
Thinking it odd, Jason immediately noticed her stern tone. Normally, she's in the kitchen to give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek, as if she had been there waiting for him to come home to greet him. Normally, as if he was the man of the house and, no doubt, he was, she was eager to listen to how his day was. Normally, if he was still her little boy, she served him milk and cookies at the kitchen table. Normally, she's happy to see him. Today was different. He felt the tension in the air and in her voice. Something was wrong, but what? Then, he realized that she was in his room.
"Oh, shit. What did she find? She found something," he just knew.
An overload of thoughts went through his head. What's his mother doing in his room? With respecting one another's privacy a big issue, as much for her, as it is for him, she never goes in his room. Did he forget to close his bedroom door? No, he remembered closing it, when leaving for his college class. Did he forget to shut down his computer? No, he didn't. He remembered shutting it down. Even if he had left his computer up and running, everything is password protected anyway, he thought to himself, while putting down his books and removing his backpack. There's no way his technology phobic mother could read any of what he's written about her on his computer.
'Oh, shit!'
Maybe she found a pair of her panties and/or her bra that he used to feel, while masturbating and forgot to put back in the laundry bin.
'Oh, fuck.'
Sick with worry, knowing she found something, but what, he scaled the stairs to his room two at a time.
"Hi, Mom," said Jason with a forced smile, while standing in his doorway and looking around his room to see if anything looked disturbed.
As soon as he entered his room, his room wreaked of sex. He remembered masturbating last night over the Nude Day story that he wrote about his mother but, preoccupied in thinking about his next story, he stopped and didn't finish. He made a note to himself to spray some air freshener, after his mother left. Unless, no way! Wouldn't it be funny, if his Mom was masturbating on his bed, while thinking of him in the way that he masturbates in bed, while thinking of her? Oh, my God Nah, that's just his overactive imagination running away with his wishes. Too piously religious, he doubted that she even masturbated.
Nonetheless, it was an odd occurrence seeing his mother sitting on his bed. She never sits on his bed. What's that all about? Suddenly, sensing a dark cloud on the horizon, a foreboding feeling of doom took hold of him, as if being sent to the principal's office, when he was back in high school, so long ago.
Then, when he looked at her, really looked at her, he couldn't help but notice that her nipples made the biggest impressions in her blouse that he's ever seen. They were huge, so big that his lips involuntarily took the shape of a goldfish. When he looked down her skirt was raised high enough up her thighs that he had a clear view of her bright, white panties, his favorite panties. Whenever she's out and he's horny, unless she's wearing them, those are the panties that he grabs to masturbate over the thoughts of her wearing them.
"Hi, Jason," she said without standing to give him a smile or a kiss on the cheek and because she violated his privacy by being in his room and sitting on his bed, he was too upset with her to give her one, too.
Immediately, he knew there was something wrong.
"What are you doing in my room, Mom?"
He tried acting calm, when he was panicking inside. He knew she had found something, he could tell by her stiff demeanor, but what? As if she was the bloody Queen of England, she was always so stiffly judgmental, but today she was his mother on steroids. Today, she invaded his privacy. Today, she was the Mother Superior Catholic Nun. Suddenly, feeling so much like her child, he felt so controlled by her. Then, she gave him look that frightened him. He hadn't received that look from her, since she discovered that he had a beer party, when she went to visit her sister.
"I found your binder filled with filth, Jason, beneath your mattress, when I was changing your sheets," she said pulling out his binder from behind her. "I read your Nude Day story, Mom Strips Naked for Nude Day with great interest," she smiled at him insincerely, before giving him a demonic stare. "How could you write such vile filth about me, your mother?" She waved his binder of stories at him, as if it was her dildo that he had discovered in her nightstand drawer and brought to his room to masturbate over, while smelling it and licking it. Guilty as charge, he's done that before. "How dare you?"
A look she's never given him before, she gave him a look of hatred now. With murder in her eyes, she looked as if she wanted to kill him, strangle him to death with her bare hands or beat him to death with his book of erotic, incestuous stories about her. Actually, he thought, that wouldn't be such a bad way to go, so long as he could peek up her skirt, while she was beating him to death.
"I'm sorry, Mom," he said with downcast eyes, while pretending to look at the floor, when he was staring at her exposed panties. He stared at her pussy mound, he stared at the outlined indentation of her visible slit through her panties, and he stared at her shapely thighs, while wishing he was positioned in between them. "It's just a story?" God, he was such a pervert to notice his mother's nipples and to be staring at his mother's panties at a time like this.
"Just a story? Just a story?" She slammed his binder on his desk from where she was still sitting on his bed. "You wrote about stripping me naked. You wrote about kissing me, French kissing me. You wrote about touching me everywhere, where no son should ever touch his mother. You wrote about eating my pussy and giving me two orgasms with your mouth, your fingers, and your tongue, and a third orgasm with your cock," she said, this time not fluttering her eyelids and/or touching her hair, as he had her do in his story. He's never seen her so angry.
"Truly, I'm sorry, Mom. It won't happen again," he said, while thinking until I write my next story about you tonight, bitch.
"You wrote about me blowing you," she said shaking her head with disappointment. "How could you write about me sucking your cock, Jason, with you cumming in my mouth and swallowing my own son's cum."
She was making him horny with the images she was giving him. Suddenly, all that he could think about was her on her knees sucking him and him cumming in her mouth, while watching her swallowing him. She gave him a hard look, as if he was a stranger writing porn about her, instead of being her son writing incestuous stories about a son's love for his mother.
"I'm sorry, Mother, really, it's just a story," he said. "I meant no offense."
She move herself off his bed and walked to him. She gave him a look, as if she was about to slap him across the face and then, she did. He couldn't believe his mother slapped across the face. If she was going to slap him, he'd prefer she'd pull down his pants and underwear, put him across her knee and paddle his ass. Notwithstanding her type of slap, the sound of her hand on his face transgressed a generation of him maturing from a man to a boy. To be so treated, as if he was still a child with his mother slapping him across the face, was humiliating. As if she had just given him a lobotomy, the slap knocked all the lust that he had for his mother from his head and replaced it with rage.
"Meant no offense? Then, I meant no offense by slapping your face. That's for writing that disgustingly degrading story about me," she said with tears streaming down her face, while punctuating her statement by stabbing her index finger in his chest.
"Mother! I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he said holding his reddening face.
If her slap hadn't shocked him enough, her reaction to his story was something he never considered, when writing such a sexual and incestuous story about her. Not considering her feelings before, when writing his stories, her slap awakened him to make him consider her feelings now. Now, instead of feeling incestuously attracted to his mother, he felt ashamed.
Only, truth be told, without any remorse, he wasn't sorry. In a sick sort of way, he was excited that his mother had such a realistic reaction to reading his story. His starring character in all of his stories of incest, she was his number one fan. For her to be so upset, this upset to evoke that kind of violent emotion from his ordinarily unemotional mother, for her to slap his face, then he knew that his writing was good and that he had gotten to even her. He was suddenly proud of what he had written, a masterpiece of a mother and son incest story.
