My Son My Love

I brought the poor boy home from hospital, both his arms in plaster casts. Out driving with a friend they had managed to have an argument with a large truck. The friend who was driving managed to get out of the wreck with barely a scratch; Brendan however was carted off to hospital with concussion and both arms broken.

Two factors determined his coming home sooner than he normally would have been expected to. One was that the hospital system being so crowded and short staffed, they try to push patients out of the door as soon as possible. The other factor was that I am a trained nurse, so they thought it safe to release him to my care.

As if I did not know my business I was given strict instructions on feeding, washing and generally taking care of him.

When I became pregnant with Brendan I gave up work until he got into his teenage years. Then I began part time night shift work in a nursing home, and since the nursing home was solely occupied by frail aged people, I had plenty of practice looking after people who could not attend to themselves.

I took unpaid leave from my job and I must say it was a pleasant change to be caring for an otherwise robust young man, even though he was my son. When I washed him I often thought to myself, “I made that,” and then remembering humility is a virtue, added the further thought, “With a little help.”

Brendan had come home to me relatively helpless and I confess to getting some joy out of the situation. As I washed him and fed him it was as if he was my totally dependent little baby boy all over again.

I had been very happy when I became pregnant with him and after giving birth I loved suckling him at my breast and washing his little body. How quickly it seems our children begin to grow away from us. What began by being nurtured in the womb, step by step becomes independent.

All being well there is an ongoing love and affection between mother and child, especially mother and son; but then comes that crucial time in our lives, puberty, and the child seems to push aside the parental care and consciously shape their own life towards maturity.

It didn’t seem to bother Frank, my husband, as much as it did me. I suppose that’s the maternal thing. As the child hangs precariously on the edge of flying the coop, the “empty nest syndrome” begins to rear its head. This is part pride in what one has reared, and partly sadness at the loss one anticipates.

Now, for a brief while, I had Brendan back again. He needed me and I am the sort of person who needs to be needed, to be used.

In general Brendan made no fuss about the things I had to do for him, but washing him was a nightmare from his point of view. During his teenage years he had been very shy about his body, at least where I was concerned. I doubt that he was equally shy with some of his girl friends.

I opted for washing him with a hand held shower attachment making sure I did not wet his casts. I thought it was lovely to run my hands over his fine young body but when it came to washing his nether regions he was very sensitive.

I tried to reassure him I was used to handling the male sexual organ in the course of my nursing duties, but this did not seem to stop him feeling self-conscious. The crux of the problem was that as I washed his penis he would get an erection.

This was not new to me when handling other males, but somehow with Brendon I admit also felt a bit uncomfortable. The truth is I was fascinated by his display of male potency and did not want to acknowledge it; the long brown shaft and the purple blood suffused crown standing out superbly seemed to me magnificent.

In the general course of my professional work I was able to either ignore an erection, or, if the patient apologised as some did, I would point out that this went with the job, and they were not to worry. Brendan also apologised when he first got his wash-time erection. I tried to take the professional line, but it didn’t come out quite right.

“Darling, it’s all right, I’m used to this sort of thing.” That was fine, but almost before I knew what I was saying I went on, “Besides, that’s what supposed to happen when a woman touches a man like this.” I gave his crown a soft little squeeze.

Brendan gave a gentle groan and I went on to wash his legs.

I think it was the fourth time I gave him his morning wash when, starting to wash the area of his agitation I noticed a considerable amount of pre-cum beginning to drip out of his penis.

Brendan knew it too and began to apologise profusely; “Oh God, I’m sorry mum, but I just can’t help it…when you touch me there…I…I can’t stop it…”

Clearly it was not simply my touching his penis that was alone the reason for his obvious painful arousal. No girlfriend had so far called and I wasn’t sure if he had a current female in tow; he tended not to discuss his sex life with me.

He seemed almost feverish with sexual excitement, his penis hot and throbbing. I realised he couldn’t possibly masturbate successfully the way his arms were encased, and it seemed that nature had not come to his rescue with night time ejaculations while asleep. So the poor boy was clearly at the end of his sexual tether.

As I washed him I felt around his testes; they seemed swollen and tender to my touch. They must have been full of semen and begging for relief. I hesitated for a moment struggling with all that my professional training had dictated in these matters, and then made up my mind.

I began to flick his foreskin over the crown of his penis.

Brendan began to protest; “Mum…mum…don’t…you’ll make me…”

“Just let go, Brendan,” I said, “it’s all right; nothing to worry about.”

He became quiet and quickly he was making jerking movements in rhythm with my manipulation of his foreskin. Experience with my husband had taught me to recognise when the male ejaculation was about to take place.

I sensed Brendan’s orgasm approaching; he gave a sharp cry and globules of sperm shot out of him splattering against the bathroom tiles. The first explosion over, he commenced gushing sperm in regular surges making little grunting sounds with ever fresh spurt until finally there were a few dribbles and he relaxed.

It was a beautiful sight to see him undergo the pleasure of sexual release. Along with the delight I felt at being able to be the instrument of his gratification there also came a sense of power. “I can give or deny him this fulfilment,” I thought.

There had been several men in my life, but I had ever seen such a massive discharge of semen before. Another thought arose in my mind; “What a terrible waste when it could have given so much pleasure to another.” I tried to fend off the real thought that it could have been a pleasure for me to experience.

Beginning to relax Brendan started to voice, not an apology, but thanks.

“Mum…mum…oh mum, I needed that so badly…I was nearly going out of my mind…but why did you…?”

“Because I knew you needed it and I wanted to do it,” I cut in. “And now let’s finish your wash…and mine,” I said laughing, because the flood of his sperm had also flowed over my hand.

“Sorry mum…” he began once more, but I interrupted again.

“Feel better for it?” I asked a trifle demurely.

“You can believe that,” he said in a less regretful tone of voice.

As I finished washing him I said, “If you like, I’ll do that for you every time I wash you.” I gave him a gentle kiss on the lips.

“Would you, mum, would you really?”

I gave another laugh and said, “It’ll be my pleasure, but for God’s sake don’t tell your father or he’ll go off his head.”

“Our secret,” he replied with a grin.

So I began to masturbate Brendan for the next three days. On the fourth day things took a new turn.

It was when I felt his orgasm approaching and a temptation that had been lurking in my mind was given in to. Before he ejaculated I knelt down and took his penis into my mouth. I heard him give a howl of ecstasy and then begin to shoot into my mouth.

As he jerked frantically with every pulse of his discharge I tried to swallow his semen, but his ejaculation was so powerful it was beyond my capacity to take all of it. It flowed out of the corners of my mouth and on to the shirt I was wearing. I waited until I was sure he had finished then withdrew from him, still trying to swallow the last of his discharge.

I remained kneeling for a few moments and Brendon stood silent. I reached for a wash cloth and wiped my face, then stood.

Brendan stared at me with a look of awe.

“Why did you do that for me?” he whispered. “Why?”

“Because I wanted to, darling,” I said.

“You’ve got my stuff all over the front of your shirt,” he murmured ruefully.

“It’ll wash,” I said, “and perhaps in future I won’t wear a shirt when I wash you.” I think I was making the poor boy quite bewildered. I wasn’t quite the mother he had thought me to be.

Next day I kept to my resolve and wore no shirt when I washed him. I felt perfectly at ease; my giving oral sex to Brendan seemed to have broken down any remaining barriers of modesty there had been between us.

I was still wearing my bras and as I prepared to wash Brendan I could see him staring at my breasts. It was obvious there was a violent mental tussle going on inside him, but finally he burst out with, “Would you take your bras off?”

As it happens I have always been rather proud of my breasts and I was not alone in admiring them. Frank enjoyed himself hugely losing himself as he put it, “among the twin hills of delight.” With my now sexually liberated attitude with Brendan I decided to oblige him, and removed my bras.

I wanted him to see my breasts. I wanted him to enjoy their beauty, but in exposing them to him I also revealed my own condition. The wetness between my legs was concealed, but the firmness of my nipples could leave no doubt that I was thoroughly sexually aroused.

Brendan was like a man spellbound. He stood gazing at my naked breasts for a long time, then said very softly, “Mum, you’re beautiful.”

The compliment was welcome but strangely it made me feel a little shy. I felt myself blushing so I said, “Well that’s enough of that; let’s get on with the washing.”

As I began washing him I was aware that he was still looking intently at my breasts. After a while he said almost inaudibly, “I wish I could touch them.”

His fingers just peeped out from under his casts but I decided on what I thought might be a better way. I said, trying to sound light, “You’ve been acquainted with them before.”

“When?” he asked surprised.

“I suckled you there when you were a baby. Would you like to do that now?”

I did not wait for him to answer but moved my breasts towards his face, and taking his head I bought it to a nipple. He took it into his mouth and as he sucked and licked I held his head close to me.

Oh God, the feeling of exhilaration his sucking and nibbling gave me. I hugged him to me crying out inside myself, “He’s mine; I have my child back again.”

I began to quiver with craving for him, my clitoris throbbing. I felt myself getting even wetter between my legs. I wanted him, oh God how I wanted him. I had never wanted any man with the overwhelming passion with which I now wanted my son.

The moment was approaching when I was to masturbate him or give him oral sex. It was not now just a case of my simply relieving him; I was almost beside myself with sexual anguish and a candidate in extremis for relief myself.

In a shaking voice I said to him, “What if we do it properly today?”

I was sure he knew what I meant, but he had to be reassured. He released my nipple and asked, “Do what?”

My throat constricted by the overwhelming emotions I was experiencing I managed to gasp out, “I mean, we should have a proper sexual intercourse.”

His reply was made in one word; “Mother”. Wet as he was he leaned against me and I kissed him avidly. If he could, I knew he would have put his arms round me and perhaps begin to feel for my vulva. He was shaking with excitement but could do little physically. It was I who had to make all the moves.

I hastened to dry him and when I had finished we went to my bedroom. I said to him, “Just lie on the bed darling, and let me take care of you.”

It was strange; I felt as if I had him back as my baby again and could “take care” of him, but in a different way now. I wanted to give myself to him, oh how I wanted to give, to meet his desperate need as I had done all those years ago when he hungered for my breasts and their overflowing milk.

Alongside his hunger was my own aching need of him. To feel him penetrate me, his thick young sperm pouring into me, filling me up to overflowing brought me almost to the point of passing out I was so possessed by my yearning for him.

Brendan lay back and watched me spellbound as with shaking hands I stripped. I knew this was a testing moment. Seeing me naked, would he find me unattractive? I know many young men seek older women for their sexual gratification but would the addition of my being his mother prove too repellent?

I stood beside the bed for a few moments, letting him see me as I was. Again his response was brief. He simply sighed, “Oh mother, please.”

The tone of his voice, his pleading for me, told me all I needed to know. I could see he was almost ejaculating before I even came near him, so I sat astride him and slowly lowered my self on to his penis. As he slipped into me he gave a long ardent groan.

I just managed to get his full length into me when he began to discharge his sperm. I worked with his rhythm and felt the electrifying rhythm of his sperm pumping into me as he groaned and cried out with each new pulsation.

I was right on the edge of my own orgasm and although he had finished I would not withdraw from him. Still moving up and down on him I began to quake, wincing and crying out as I moved towards the agonising apex of my climax. I wanted to give myself totally to him, to melt into him and he into me so we became one.

I do not wish to denigrate Frank, but I must say this was the most overwhelming orgasm I had experienced up to that time. I think it was born of a hidden love and passion that I had buried deep within my psyche; an incestuous longing for the child of my womb.

As the enormous agony and ecstasy of our coupling began to quieten and I relaxed I found I was weeping with happiness; another first time for me during sexual intercourse.

Despite the fact that what we had done was incestuous, I was a peace. It seemed totally right; a sort of home coming; or perhaps reunion describes it better. My child had become part of me again and as a sat across him, his now slackening organ still inside me, I never wanted to let him go.

Poor Brendan was not quite as tranquil as me. He was troubled by my tears.

“Mother…mother are you all right? Did I hurt you?”

“No darling, you have made me very happy.”

“That was the most stunning thing I’ve ever experienced,” he said. “I had no idea it would be like that…so…so…”

“Overpowering?” I asked.

“Yes, that’s just what it was, overpowering. When I was putting my sperm into you I wanted to…to…” He hesitated, unsure whether to speak openly about what he had wanted. I knew what he meant, and said so.

“You wanted to make me pregnant, didn’t you?”

“Yes…yes…I wasn’t really sure what it was I felt, but I wanted there to be some result…some outcome, something we had both made…something that would have made it complete.”

In that moment I felt a little regretful that I was on the contraceptive pill. I said nothing about this to him, but smiled down at him and said, “I would like that too. Perhaps…who knows…?”

I withdrew him from sensing as I did so that I was separating from something that belonged to me, part of myself. I lay beside him, stroking his strong young body and softly kissing his lips. As I touched his penis I felt that it was already hard again.

This time in a more leisurely manner I sat across him once more and let him slide into me. I moved very slowly, letting his crown almost exit from my vagina, then unhurriedly dropped down to let his full length enter, feeling the contentment and happiness of a sexual coupling made in love.

We spoke loving words to each other and in the process he revealed what I had never suspected.

“You know I’ve wanted you for a long time, don’t you mother? It wasn’t just because you washed me. I’ve wanted you ever since I came to understand about sexual intercourse. I’ve dreamed about being with you like this for years.”

He grinned; “Of course, I didn’t have my arms in casts during the dreams.”

I smiled back at him and said, “I didn’t know you felt like that about me darling, and you won’t always have your arms in casts.”

Those I knew were words of commitment. If at all possible this was not going to be a one off coupling; I felt and believed that our union had been too intense and profound for it to end there. I had set my mind on our making love not only while he was incapacitated, but beyond that into the future.

As if reading my thoughts Brendon asked, “This won’t be the only time, will it?”

“No sweetheart,” I replied, “it won’t be the only time. We have to be very careful, but let’s get together as often as we can.”

With that I felt he was ready to discharge again, so I began to move on him more purposefully. He closed his eyes, gave an ecstatic cry and ejaculated.

I was not ready for another orgasm so I enjoyed watching him as he shot his seed into me. He murmured words I could not hear properly as he unloaded into my vagina, and then I felt him relax. He opened his eyes and looked at me and almost shyly said, “Thanks mum that was tremendous.”

I made a humorous rejoinder; “My pleasure, darling, and I aim to please.”

I had taken two loads of his semen into me and what with my own lubricant we were in a bit of a mess. I withdrew from him making him gasp as the nerve crammed crown of his penis slipped out of me.

“I’ll just give us both a bit of a clean up”, I said, and made my way to the bathroom. I flushed Brendan’s sperm out of me and then taking a bowl of water and a wash cloth I went back to the bedroom and began washing his penis and groin.

When I’d finished he had another erection and I laughingly said, “Before you get your own pleasure this time, you’re going to give me mine.”

He looked at me and grinned; “How would you like it?” he asked.

“You, young man, are going to give your mother oral sex,” I replied.

“By all means,” he replied, still grinning. “How would you like me to do it?”

I had already considered this. I would dearly liked to have sat across his face but having his arms in plasters casts seemed to make that a bit difficult, so I opted for me sitting on the edge of the bed with legs up and spread wide, while he knelt in front of me.

As he knelt in front of me he said, “I’m going to do this to you until you come.”

With that he thrust his tongue into my vagina pushing it through my opening to lick inside my tunnel.

It was clear to me that the young devil had done this before, and for the next few minutes he nearly ate me as he moved between my opening and my clitoris. I felt my orgasm building then launching itself upon me. I began to vibrate ever more vigorously as the first waves swept over me.

I had my hands behind his head clasping him to me and was pleading with him not to stop. Deliciously agonising sensations had me screaming and weeping as Brendan thrust and licked with his tongue ever more eagerly. I became so delirious with sexual fire I thought I might faint so intense was the experience.

The wonderful torment seemed to rage through my whole body and the room span around me until the climax was passed and I began to quieten down.

As the after shocks diminished I recall moaning, “Darling…darling…that was so wonderful.”