It started with; no wait, that's not right, it didn't start with tacky magazine personality tests, but it was rekindled by them.
My brain is the brain of a human male; on days when I'm not having sex, and usually also on days when I am having sex, my brain fantasises and schemes about having sex. When favourite fantasies would need a refresh; when visions of the girl sitting opposite me on the bus with her cherry red lip-sticked lips wrapped around my cock were becoming blaze, when watching my cock pump punishingly into Paris Hiltons pale pink ass was just another cum fest, when dreams of lesbian twins taking turns riding me while they licked each other to orgasm were dreary old re-runs, on days when my self-stroking hand wanted to test the boundaries of taboo, I would imagine the lover gripping my cock was my mother.
These were images living only in the arousal of masturbation; there was no waking thought of making them real. I had no intention of making moves on her like I occasionally tried with those girls sitting opposite on the bus; that is until those tacky magazine personality tests came into my life.
You know the type, there's an advert on the front cover that says 'Take the test in our sealed section - Do you like a lucky licky or do prefer a tricky dicky.' Or a cover that says 'Page sixty-nine has our exclusive quiz - Discover you hidden passions, find out what really turns you on.'
I found out my mother was a junky for those quizzes. She wouldn't just tick the box for A B or C, she would write expansive comments in the margins. I suppose it was some sort of therapy for her; when you're not getting it the way you want it, release your feelings by writing them down. I read and absorbed her hundreds and hundreds of answers in dozens and dozens of magazines. And it made me want mom for real.
It wasn't that she'd said anything about me, or gave any hints that incest might be acceptable, or anything else that might lead you to say to say things to yourself. "Aha, now I see why reading those responses would make a man decide to fuck his mother."
No, there was none of that in them, it was just that here was a woman's sexuality opened up to me; here was a woman answering candidly how she liked the taste of pre-cum more than cum itself, how she preferred sex on a bed with lots of, as she called it, the four T's (talking, teasing, and tender touching), how she confessed that she hadn't had an orgasm for 3 years because her partner Rick (she would put a lower case 'p' in front of his name when she referred to him) was just a slam bam bastard man who would hold the back of her head till he came and who refused to ever lick her, and how she took solace in her Jacuzzi. "I don't know what it is about them but whoever I'm with or if I'm alone or even if I'm with pRick, I've never ever been in a Jacuzzi and not felt turned on, even when we are not touching I feel so sexy."
I remember the first time I read that comment about the Jacuzzi; yes I read her answers more than once, I read them till I could memorise them. I would take her magazines away once a fortnight.
"For the office recycling program mom, I put them straight in the shredder and it helps the environment they reckon."
I'd replace them with ones that I'd personally selected for their sex questionnaires.
"They're from the front office mom, the girls there don't want them anymore."
When I first read her comments about that Jacuzzi I couldn't help that the next time I went to her place I took a walk down to her bedroom and through to the en-suite. I just stood in the doorway looking at the Jacuzzi with a thousand visions growing in my head and an erection growing in my pants.
And then Rick the pRick sabotaged the Jacuzzi and she asked me to take a look to see if I knew why it had stopped working.
She asked me on a Friday and I turned up the following Thursday lunchtime. In the days and nights in between, my brain had turned my masturbating hand into every orifice of my mothers' body, but despite all this I couldn't convince myself of any pick-up line that would actually work. I formed a rudimentary plan and decided that although there was no believable end-game to the plan, at the very least I might achieve the basis of few good future jerks.
I arranged for the afternoon off work and turned up in the heat of the day with a bag of tools and a cold bottle of champagne.
"It's in case I get lucky today mom, the champagne is for you. If I get this thing going you'll want a nice cool drink to sip while you're relaxing in the tub."
"Awww but that's so sweet, you're doing all the work, I should be giving you something."
I didn't say it, but I thought it in a thousand different words. "Give me your body and we'll call it even." As I thought it, I took in as much of her body with my eyes as I could; you never know, there may be something in all those body language and thought transfer mumbo jumbos, I knew I'd need at the help I could get.
I kept her with me; talking and chatting, while I worked away. It took me two seconds to confirm her suspicions that pRick really had sabotaged the thing; the stupid prick had removed a safety fuse. I pretended to work away on all sorts of complex fixes for the next half an hour or more, getting her to hold parts in place like she was helping out, my hand holding hers in place.
"Here, hold it like this, gee your hands are nice and warm, that's good that's a nice grip, but don't damage those pretty fingers."
All the while steering the small talk to where I wanted it to go; which was where those quizzes told me she'd want it to go if it was her lover chatting her up.
It was a hot day and we worked up quite a sweat in the confined spaces around some of the plumbing; my own plumbing jealous that her fingers were wrapped around other pipes.
"Alright! Go team! I think we got it. Let's see if we can fill this pretty baby up." I turned on the taps. "Phew, that was hot work, I don't know about you but I could do with a cold drink and dive into this baby right away. Hey, how about we do that? What better way to celebrate the return of bubbles than with a bottle of bubbles? Why don't you put that Champers on ice, get a couple of glasses, and get into your bathers; I'll double check things here and spill in some of that bubble bath on the shelf there. I've already got my bathers on." I pointed down to my shorts.
"Umm, err, no, you go ahead dear, you've been working hard. I might have a tub later tonight, but you get in, you deserve it, and I'll get us a glass of the lovely champagne you got."
"No, c'mon mom, there's plenty of room, it's a big two seater and you've been working just as hard as I have; look you're sweating. Get your bathers on, you'd said you'd give me something for fixing it, so give me the honour of sharing a glass of champagne with you." I said more, regretting the lameness and danger of it as soon as I said it. "I promise to keep my hands to myself under the water."
"YOU'D BETTER" she laughed "I'm your MOTHER."
"Gee I forgot, you look so young for your age (I lied) that I sometimes forget and have to slap my hands to keep off you." Again I regretted moving my lips before my brain could react and slap my mouth shut.
"You're crazy." She smiled.
We have always had a close and best-friends sort of relationship, so I wasn't really straying from any normal banter to be teasing her like this. Except that I knew what I was thinking of this time.
"Go on, I'm not taking no for an answer, bubbles, bathers and both of us. Hurry, this is filling up fast, I'll see you under the suds." I reached for the bottle of bubble-bath. "Go, quick." I ushered her gently out the door.
To my surprise she did come back with the champagne, and in one-piece swimsuit. I gave her a teasing wolf-whistle and quickly said "c'mon, get in, the water is great, and give me that there glass of wine."
She got in, but very tentatively and clearly nervous about the whole thing. I had no idea if she was worried about the concept of bathing with her son (albeit we were clothed), or that she knew she was notoriously horny in a Jacuzzi, or a combination of both, or something completely different, but I knew two things; one, any plan I had of sexing her in here was much less than remote unless her tensions were lowered 500%, and two, the idea that she might be thinking of any of those thoughts was turning me on.
