Beside myself, I'm not sure for whom I'm writing this, certainly not for everyone. Maybe it's for you if you've harbored a desirous thought about a cousin, or looked longingly at a sibling, or crossed the line in a fantasy about a parent. Maybe it's for those who know that the minds and hearts of consenting adults come in different colors, and it's okay.
When the interesting part of my life got going, reality bore little resemblance to the perfection of my long drawn out fantasies about my mom. Incidents and accidents of seeing more than one should, probably occurs between most mothers and sons. Mostly, it passes unremarkably - sometimes it doesn't. I took intense notice of things a son is not supposed to. The way my mother sat with her legs crossed, the swell under her sweater, the way she looked from behind. I hardly remember a time when I didn't notice.
Maybe we all have some early events that burn themselves into our memory; this is mine. I pass by the bathroom as she's putting on makeup, getting ready to go see a play at the local theater. She's wearing a black bra, black panties, and heels. The stockings are sheer, and seamed, and I look with awe because I can see the full roundness of her ass. She's too busy putting on her red lipstick in the mirror to notice me walk by.
I start to weave a fantasy immediately. I don't just walk by and go to my room to masturbate the way I did that night; I pretend she's dressed that way for me. In my best of all possible imaginary worlds, I say, "Mom, you have a beautiful ass."
She laughs while looking at me in the mirror and I can tell by her smile that she's pleased that her son finds her ass attractive. But she says playfully, "You're not supposed to say things like that to your mother."
In my fantasy, I always say the right thing..."Even if I love you, mom?"
Her expression changes because she's touched. She tells me, "Then you can say anything you want." She comes over and kisses me full on the lips. I can feel her body against me as her tongue tenderly teases mine. We just kiss for a long time. We keep on kissing until her hand caresses between my legs. And then I come. It was one of my earliest musings on my mother, and in that oft repeated scene, I never touch her. Later, my longings get bolder and I do much more than touch her when she's in my mind.
Everything she did seemed to be a reason for me to jump into fantasy. I tried to stop myself. I was eighteen and a half and my mom was exactly double my age when these events were triggered. It wasn't like I'd never been out or totally inexperienced. I really did try to stop myself at first. I even heard the words in my head, "Stop it...stop it...STOP IT."
That's what I told myself on the day I was transfixed by her form undulating on the Stairmaster. I didn't often go in to the small room that contained a smattering of gym equipment when she was there. But the desire to watch her that day was stronger than the feeling that I shouldn't.
She was wearing her glasses and reading as she 'climbed.' It's not that her tits were so big or anything, it's just that they look so good as they rose and fell in that tight top when she worked out. A son isn't supposed to take notice of his mother's breasts, or her body, but telling that to myself that didn't work very well.
I imagined my hand gently placed around the end of her tit. As she moved, her boob would slide in my palm. The best part is the smile that I pictured on her face because she was enjoying the sensation of her son feeling her. In my mind, she takes off her glasses and closes her eyes. Even though the material is tight, I can feel her nipple harden as I massage more firmly and take more of her tit into my hand. I would have gone on from there in my flight of fantasy if she didn't say, "Honey, what would you like for dinner?"
You probably know what I thought, but I said, "I'm not hungry now mom," and I went to my room where I closed my eyes and made up more of the story.
In the made-up version of my life, I don't have a brother Brendan; there is no other male beside me in the house throughout my childhood. Mom is an educated, practical, woman; and when she realizes that her early marriage was a mistake, she gets out. So I'm was the one she smiles at, and kisses, and hugs to her breasts.
In that version, the alimony and child support was paid on time, and it makes life so much easier that way. Instead of just making ends meet in a less than ideal neighborhood, I can think about other things. And I can do without seeing my father once or twice a year.
In the real version, I guess we were doing okay until I got myself in trouble. Yes, I stayed with the 'wrong' kids. You know - friends who really aren't your friends. I was looking for an extra thrill and an extra buck, but nobody forced me to go along on the bungled burglary.
We were smart enough to get away with it - for about two days. I was the one who caught the brunt of it when the others blamed me, and it cost my mom what little savings she had. It was the first of too many times. I was still young and stupid enough to make the same mistakes that drove my mom to tears of frustration. It didn't end until I became intimate with her.
I had finished high school and was without skills or intentions. Mom quit her evening job to 'Baby-sit' me through my probation. She presented me with an ultimatum, which included staying in every night, with her, until I straightened out.
At first I gave her a hard time, but she begged and cajoled and I gave in. Fantasy and reality blurred and I started to hate myself less for the thoughts I had when I was with her. She enjoyed sports as much as I did and we followed The Cubs, The Bulls, and the Bears. I also went back to piano lessons with mom. She played beautifully and had given me lessons since I was three, which I fought, tooth and nail, for ten years until she finally gave up in exasperation.
Spend that much time with anyone, and before long, you either love them or hate them. We both let our guards down and told each other real things. I was turned on by the intimacy of our time together, sitting next to her on the piano, by the hands that stroked my cheek, and touched me when she talked.
It didn't take much more than that for me to imagine seducing her. In a matter of days, I concoct this elaborate tale to amuse and stimulate myself. Seduction wasn't too complicated in my fantasy, so we have a couple of beers one night and I can't say how I came to be leaning towards her lips, or who kissed whom first. I can't say anything really, except that we probably both know what's happening. We held the kiss and embrace for a long time and when we break, my mother's now comical response is, "Oh dear." After she composes herself, she says, "We should talk about this dear." She calls me 'Dear,' a lot in my fantasies even though I'd never actually heard her refer to me that way.
In the story I make up, I didn't answer; I just kissed her again. Her kiss was conflicted, but still filled with passion, and I could hear her breathing even harder than I was. I unbutton her blouse and she makes protesting noises, but she doesn't stop me. I unclasp her bra. Her body starts to back away but not before I put my mother's bare tit in my hand. The pounding in my chest is loud enough to drown out my thoughts. Her tits aren't explosive porn star size; they're a mother's gentle handful, but ample enough to straighten my cock. Her nipple is brown and fully capped the end of her soft breast. The friction of it on my palm hardens the tip to erection.
My mind fast-forwards and I fully expect to have sex with her right there on the sofa. She seems transfixed as she watches me unzip my pants and release the hardened mass that springs out. My cock strains for her hand, which she doesn't move. I urge her hand onto my cock and she softly caresses it. As I fondle my mother's breast and nipple, she mimics the motions on my shaft and knob. We kiss and our tongues play until I'm almost crazed and then she pulls back and lets out a whimper. She says, "I think we should stop now dear," as if we had been playing a card game.
Even though it's my story, I can't make it too easy, because part of the fun is the tease. So she puts her bra back on and says, "Get dressed sweetheart, it's time to make dinner," as if nothing has just happened. I want to say "Mom, I was just holding your bare tit in my hand and you were rubbing my cock...dinner...are you crazy?" All I get out is "Mom..."
She's up and leaving after kissing me on the cheek and saying, "Come on, come on, I need your help." Then as she was doing the dishes she says, "You are quite lovely you know."
Here's how I start to get to the action in my fantasy. We get a call about my father. It was a car accident and it was all over on impact. Even if there were no good feelings left between them, she had once loved him, married him, and he was gone. She also knew that the checks would stop, but the debts wouldn't. So she cries, I hold her, a switch somewhere is flipped, and our physically connected bodies triggers that chemical thing that happens. She lets my hands roam over her.
Now it starts to get serious. My mother is looking up at me and she closes her eyes as she kisses my stomach. She lays her head on it and says, "I love you Stevie." She guides my hand to her bare breasts that are exposed to me. I take each fleshy tit in my hands as she undoes my pants and my hardened cock almost springs at her. I can hardly stand it and I can hardly stand.
At that moment I have none of the confidence I usually have when I'm having sex with other girls. This is my mother and her mouth is approaching my cock. I let go of her tits as her wet mouth and tongue contact my cock. I hold her head as much for balance as to direct the length of my shaft in and out of her mouth. She's sucking and softly moaning as she blows me. It's impossible that my mother is blowing me, but I'm watching my thick cock sliding through her lips and entering her mouth where she's sucking and sucking and sucking.
I pull out of her mouth because I don't want to come too soon and I get on the bed with her, kissing her as if we'd been lovers for years. She goes back down to my cock and in that position I can reach her pussy, which I begin to rub over her panties as she sucks me. I can hear her moan on my cock as my finger finds her clit. She stops to catch her breath and without looking up at me just says, "Oh Stevie."
