I never fully understood what happened to him. I was around six years old at the time. It was going to be my birthday the following week. I was happy, always happy, until we heard the news. Dad had died. How? I didn't know. I still don't know. Mom is kind of secretive about his death, and no one told me. In fact, I can't even remember the last time I ever even mentioned the word 'dad'. I kind of got used to it, grief being washed away by time. At least that's what I tell myself.
After dad's death, others started to leave me as well. My aunt and uncle died in a car accident, their children committing suicide shortly afterwards. It just left mom and me as my grandparents passed away a long time ago. Here I am, a 19-year-old man, with just his dear old mom.
My therapist asked me how I cope, and told me that it's dangerous if I don't try and deal with grief upfront, for me mentally and emotionally. Not like I would tell him how I cope, even if I could think of a response. I have sex a lot, if that's considered coping. I just think of myself as a vulgar romantic. I like that term more than 'sex maniac'.
When I get home from my university, a mere 20 miles way from my home, I see a variety of different men walking out the front door, belt unbuckled. I don't think much of it anymore – my mom is still looking for the 'one'. She's pretty, my mom. No wonder so many men come to our house.
At a young 39 years old, she still has the body of most college girls I see around campus. She has bright green eyes, and blonde hair that goes down to her waist. She's small, though – probably around 110 pounds, and about 5'4. She doesn't talk to me much anymore. I'm not home that often anyways – off partying and hooking up with random people I've met through clubs and friends. It's hard for me to admit, but I think I do grieve for my dad sometimes. Maybe that's why I have a lot of sex. I need some form of love to fill the void. That seems like a twisted thing to say, but it's the best theory I have.
I never loved my dad anyways, so I'm not sure if I really do miss him. My emotions are a little messed up – I can't tell which emotion to attribute to my feelings at a particular time. I do know what lust feels like, though. I feel it around my mom every day when I come home.
I've slept with a lot of women. A
lot
of women. I don't know what I'm expecting to feel afterwards – satisfaction? Love? A sense of belonging? No, I don't feel any of those things. I just feel more emptiness, more hopelessness, and strangely, a peculiar sadness. I don't know
why
I feel these things, though. The only times I feel whole or appreciated or loved is when my mom actually talks to me. Those moments are far and few in between, though. Recently I think she's started to succumb to a deep depression. I haven't seen her happy at all, in several years. But somehow, she still can make me feel better. I'm just not sure what to do to make
her
feel better.
I tried giving her massages – but every time my hands touched her body, I became hard instantly. I started to think I was going nuts, lusting after my own mother, but after seeing that many men come out of her bedroom door, I don't think I am anymore. Clearly other people find her attractive as well. It's not just me.
I've tried drawing baths for her, making things nice and soothing and relaxing in her washroom. The first time I did that, she was already a little drunk, and she started to disrobe right in the washroom with me. When she bent over the bath to tie her hair back, I found myself staring at her rear. Soft and tight, I thought about it all night as I was stroking myself. I just can't do anything for my mother without wanting to fuck her. All I could possibly think to do is just talk with her. Talking couldn't be erotic at all for me, could it?
One night, all of a sudden, I didn't see any men in the house. No one came to visit my mom. I found it peculiar, but it made me happy to know no one else would be inside my house. One night, as I found out, something else would make me even happier.
"Sophie, why does nobody come to our house anymore?" I asked late at night, the day before Halloween, when the two of us were eating dinner alone together. I've called my mom by her first name, Sophie, for the longest time.
"All I need in my life is my son right now," she responded, smiling and biting her lip. Instantly I became hard. That smile was enough to turn me on instantly.
Is she signalling she wants me?
I thought to myself.
God, I want her.
"Sophie, I'm thinking of going to a party tomorrow night. Is that alright?" I inquired.
"Aw, I thought we could spend all night together tomorrow," she replied, pouting. That's weird. She never usually protested against me going out to parties.
"All night? Doing what?" I asked. I really hoped I would get the answer I wanted, as far fetched as it seemed.
Lord Jesus, if you love me, you'll make her say what I want to hear.
"Whatever you want to do with me," she said, smiling. She bent her head back down to finish her dinner, and didn't say anything more on the matter.
Whatever I want? What's that supposed to mean?
"Alright, I'll stay home with you tomorrow," I said. I could feel myself blushing madly. She just nodded and smiled. Then, suddenly, she stood up, spilling her glass of milk.
"Holy fuck," I said. "You scared the hell out of me! What's gotten into you?"
She laughed. "Sorry, Mason," she replied sheepishly. "I just remembered something I had to do. I'll clean this mess up, you continue eating." She walked over to the kitchen counter and bent over to open one of the floor cabinets to get the washcloth. I couldn't help but admire her perky ass as she bent over. I felt myself getting even harder. She bent over even farther, trying to reach inside the cabinet. I rose, feeling like if I didn't jack off, I would explode.
"Mom, I'm going to go to my room to check my grades online, I'll be back in a second," I lied.
"Oh, Mason, wait, can you help me with something?" she asked. "The cloth got stuck at the back of the cabinet, and I'm trying to pull it out. Can you stand behind me and –"
"Yes," I blurted immediately.
Shit, why did I say that?
I thought to myself. But the thought of standing behind my sexy bent over mother...
"Okay, get behind me and grab my hips," she commanded. I was giddy with joy. I walked over behind her, grabbed her hips, and pulled in close to her. I could feel the softness of her ass against the outline of my penis in my jeans.
