I was lying there in bed, naked with the covers pulled down. Being a healthy eighteen year old boy, I was masturbating to the thought of a naked woman. I was a virgin, had never really had a girlfriend, so I had to fantasize about sex instead of actually experiencing it. However, my fantasies were taking an odd turn.
Well, maybe not so odd after all, after I did some reading on the subject. For a few months now, I had been thinking of my mother when I masturbated. I read that it was normal for guys my age to do that, it had something to do with the psychological makeup of a young man. And since my father had died many years ago, she was the only person I was consistently around. Being the only woman I had regular contact with, it was understandable that she was the object of my sexual desire.
So I satisfied my conscience with this explanation and frequently pictured my mother participating in various sex acts with me while I jerked off. I had to admit, I usually came quicker and stronger when I thought about my mother. I began to act differently around her too. I took more of a part in cleaning and helping around the house. Even though my father had been gone for a while, Mom always took charge and never complained that I didn’t do enough for her.
I felt like we were actually having sex, even though she had never shown me any kind of affection other than motherly. Usually after I jerked off, I would pass her in the hallway and feel kind of funny, or when I would hug her I had to fight back my erection. Something told me I was headed for trouble if I kept fantasizing about her.
However, tonight I couldn’t help myself. I was particularly horny, and Mom had been walking around in her bra this morning. I still couldn’t get her out of my head. She was in good shape, I suppose working by herself kept her that way. She was pretty stacked, maybe not as firm as a younger woman but very attractive. I used to think that she owed it to me to let me jerk off to the thought of her body, since she looked so good. Of course, I was just justifying it for myself. But she really was arousing, to me anyway.
As I laid there, I was just about to cum, when I heard the door creak open. For years now, she had never walked in on me without knocking, and she never came into my room this late anyway. But tonight, there she was, standing in my doorway watching me jerk off. I stopped as soon as I heard her, of course. But the way she was standing there, I got the feeling she had been watching me for a while. Like she had quietly cracked my door open, and then opened it all the way so I would notice her.
I froze, too embarrassed to even cover myself. The worst part was, my erection was not dying down, even in my shame. My incestuous fantasies were that strong, that even being caught by my mother was one of my secret fantasies. I just stared at her. She looked at my straining erection for a moment, and then up at me.
“Mom…” I didn’t know what to say.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” she said, calm and motherly.
She didn’t say anything else, she just stood there watching me. Her eyes went back down to my crotch, as if she was expecting me to resume masturbating. After a few moments of silence, she glanced back up at me.
“Well?” she said. “Aren’t you going to finish?”
She was playing with me, punishing me perhaps. I shamefully covered myself with my sheet, though my erection tented through the covers quite noticeably.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I said.
She came over to the bed and I sat up. She sat next to me and rustled my hair.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m not mad.”
I couldn’t look her in the eyes. But I didn’t get a nice view of her cleavage through her robe. It was tied closed but had loosened a bit when she sat down. Her breasts were pushing against the confines of the material. I was still fully erect, and she could no doubt see it.
“You’re not?” I asked.
She smiled. “Of course not. I already knew what you were doing before I even came in.”
I gave her a questioning look.
“You do it every night, right?” she asked.
I was so embarrassed, I looked away.
“Don’t all guys your age?” she said, as if it was a normal thing. Which it was, I guess.
“Maybe,” I said. “But, I…”
She waited. “What?”
I forced myself to look at her. “I have a confession. I have to tell you because I’ve felt sort of bad about it.”
She looked concerned. “What is it?”
I was quiet for a few moments. “I…well, lately, I’ve been thinking…about you…when I do it.”
Mom didn’t say anything, and I couldn’t look her in the eye. After a moment, she rubbed my shoulder.
“You have?” She was almost smiling. “I guess I should have expected that. You see me everyday. And boys usually have sexual fantasies about their mothers.”
I felt a little bit comforted, but still embarrassed. My erection twitched under the sheets. Having her touching me was getting me off. I felt like I would blow under the sheets if she kept rubbing my shoulder.
“I shouldn’t have interrupted you,” she said, still touching me.
“Are you mad?”
“No, actually, I’m a little flattered. Maybe…well, I guess I should let you think about me, if that’s normal for young men.”
I looked up at her in surprise. “You want me to fantasize about you?”
