In the first part of my description of our relationship, I described how my mother and began having sex shortly after my eighteenth birthday. The intention of this second short explanation is not to describe in detail the events between us, but simply to try and illustrate the nature of our affair and how we have grown together as a couple. I hope that to some extent it will explain, for anyone that may be interested, how it feels to be in a partnership like ours. Most importantly, I want to express the depth of my feeling for her and to describe how we exist as loving and committed partners. We are lovers like any other couple and our blood tie is now secondary to that love.
I am twenty three years old and my mother is forty six. We have been lovers for the last five years. Our relationship has developed gradually since we first began to have sex. During the excitement of those first nights in her bed, I experienced my introduction to the shattering pleasure that making love with a woman can bring. There was something bittersweet about taking this journey with my own mother. I knew that we were exploring something that should have been forbidden and yet the intoxicating taste of this dark and secret world was irresistible to us both. To me she was an elegant and attractive woman who took my virginity and taught me the pleasures of sex. That alone was enough to draw me in, but the fact that she wanted her own son to experience this with her was incredibly erotic in my mind. What we were doing ignited me.
Not long after we had started our sexual relationship, my mother began to use oral contraception, dispensing with the need for condoms. The feel of being naked inside of her was a new and incredibly intimate thing for me. The first time that I filled her with my sperm was beautiful and intense physically, but what was even more deeply affecting about this was the fact that she had made a conscious choice to take this step. For a long time I had wanted to share the deepest emotional and mental places with her, I wanted to be in parts of her mind that her son should never have entered.
Knowing that she had consciously decided to make this change, so that we could enjoy regular and sometimes spontaneous sex, meant that she had accepted our relationship as something that was an important and routine part of her life. It was no longer the accidental consequence of us becoming unusually and unnaturally close. It was something that she chose for herself and that signalled to me that she chose me, her son, as her sexual partner. That was what I wanted more than anything, to be regarded by her in that way.
There was however always an element of inequality between us, which I suppose was to be expected.
She must have been nervous about what she was doing and worried that she was leading me into something that I was not emotionally mature enough to handle. For that reason she initially did not allow our sex to become anything more than a way of us sharing a needy and basic physical outlet that satisfied the urges of both of us.
It was an uneasy and strange relationship we had at first. Most of the time, we behaved like a perfectly normal mother and son. I finished my education and she worked, we spent time as a family looking after each other and we went along with the million and one mundane routines of life as any family would. But once a week, when we had the house to ourselves overnight, she would take me into her bed and we would make love.
At first, it was very gentle and loving as she went through the ritual of seduction every time it happened. We would lie in each other's arms, kissing and touching each other as if to see how far we dared go. Eventually, when we were both captured by the excitement and anticipation, she would pull me to her, wrapping her legs around me and guiding me inside of her. It felt to me as if our sex was an unplanned extension of a loving closeness between a mother and her son, as we made love lying side by side and face to face. When it was over she would comfort me as she held my head to her, sometimes whispering to me that she was sorry for letting it happen.
In time, the dynamic between us gradually changed. She became more open about her enjoyment and began to introduce an element of daring and slight greed into the act. As I became more confident in what I was doing I would be the one to try and move the pace of our foreplay towards intercourse. Instead of waiting for her to draw me to her I would move my hand to push her thighs apart with the intention of entering her. She would respond by grabbing my wrist as if to stop me. I sensed that she wanted me to react to this, knowing that she had me at a point at which my need for her had taken over. We would dance around this pretence a little while until eventually she would relax her grip, gently pressing her nails into the flesh of my back as I pushed my body onto hers and forced my penis inside of her.
Now and again she would be more aggressively selfish in taking something for herself. She would sit astride me, but not facing me as she had done the first few times we had sex. She would have her back to me as she straddled me, using her hands to press my hardness inside of her. My arms and hands would reach up to hold her waist and she moved herself up and down in a way which gave her most enjoyment.
Normally, this would be on the occasions that we made love twice in the same night. The first time I would come quickly, unable to hold back at the sweet ecstasy of sharing her body. After a while, perhaps after we had slept a little, she would lead me towards her again. This time it would take much longer for my orgasm to arrive and she would be able to gain more satisfaction from what we were doing. As she took me it seemed that she no longer cared about whether I was taking enjoyment and instead was simply focusing on her own physical bliss. I would watch her as she moved and writhed, her body riding on me in a way that allowed her to satisfy herself.
It didn't happen every week. Sometimes we would go a month or more without her inviting me to sleep with her and I would think that it was over. I would have understood if she had wanted it to stop and there were times when I myself thought it might be better if it were to end. We never talked about it. I don't think we were capable of communicating our thoughts and feelings about what we were doing. Inevitably though it would start again and any doubts we had about the rights or wrongs would disappear in the delicious warmth of us enjoying a night in her bed. Looking back I suppose we were like any other couple finding the level and pace of a new physical relationship and over time we settled into a rhythm that became normal. The only difference in our case is that we were mother and son.
A subtle change in our relationship occurred after about six months. It was not long after I had started dating a girl of my own age. My mother had encouraged this at first and I had gone along with it, believing that she genuinely wanted me to move towards this next stage of my life. But I was soon to realise that, in truth, she wanted me for herself at the exclusion of all others. It is this feeling of possessive love that now characterises our relationship. It began on the night she first performed oral sex on me.
On the night in question she was waiting up for me when I returned home.
I had been on a date with the girl in question. My mother began to ask me questions about where we had been and what we had done. In truth the relationship was quite innocent, not really having passed the kissing and light touching stage, despite my obvious experience from my love making with my mother.
She followed me into the kitchen and did something unusual for her in that she held me. Not in a sexual way at first, but in the way that a romantic lover might hold a partner in their arms. She kissed me. Gentle and sweet kisses, but kisses that became more intense as she began to show me how she felt and how much she needed me.
Between each press against my lips she spoke to me, with short and quiet words that she didn't seem able to keep back.
"Does she kiss you like this my baby?"
Her tongue licked into my mouth and made contact with mine as she increased the depth of her kiss.
"Does she touch you, do you let her touch you Tom?"
Her hands unfastened the waist of my trousers and she pushed her fingers down inside the top of my shorts, touching gently against just the tip of my penis. I grew hard to her touch. There is something I am sure about the feel of a woman's touch to any man that awakens his sexual urge, but I had already learned that the feel of my mother's hands against me had the power to unlock something incredible inside of me. She pulled the front of my garments apart as she spread the flat of her hand against my flesh and started to rub against me.
Now she was talking to me as she touched me. No longer kissing me, simply whispering her words into my ear as she used both of her hands to start to gently tug and play with me.
