(Usual Disclaimer Time: All the characters in this story are 18 years old or older, and since we're living in the wide wonderful world of porno-land here, where clichés roam free and things might get a little unrealistic from time to time, please remember it's all in good fun. And it should go without saying, but I'll say it anyway, that this story is a fantasy that in no way endorses incest in real life and if reading it isn't your thing, I'd recommend turning back now rather than writing angry reviews later.)
(Author's Note: For a long time, my readers have asked if I would ever consider writing an incest story, and while I never thought that day would come, well, eventually I guess enough people finally asked for me to give into peer pressure and give it a try. This is my first ever attempt at writing incest, but I'm open to writing more if the response to this one is decent since this was fun to write. For those who haven't read my stuff before, I tend to enjoy some slower-burn character stories with a fair bit of banter before things get hot and messy, but they will get hot and messy, I promise. Beyond that, I hope you all enjoy!)
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"Ethan Miller, you're a handsome, nineteen-year-old college man and it's a Friday night; when are you going to get out there and get laid?"
I was used to Mom storming into my room unannounced and her unconventional conversational style, but this was definitely one of those times where she managed to surprise me. Thankfully, I was deft enough to pause the game on my computer before I'd lose any of my progress the moment she'd entered the room, but not quick enough to avoid choking on the sip of Coke I'd just taken when she said this. I made a few undignified sounds in this moment to keep from spitting it everywhere, but once I was able to swallow the angry, bubbling mouthful of soda, I was able to get my wits about me and come up with a suitable response.
Swiveling around in my chair, I exclaimed, "Mom!"
As ever, Jessica Miller, a.k.a. my dear old mom, walked around my room like she owned the place. Truthfully, she actually *did* own our house, and my room by extension, which she was allowing me to live in rent-free while I went to a nearby college (and was forever thankful for), but even if she hadn't owned it, she'd have still walked with the same kind of confidence as if she had because that was how she approached pretty much all of life.
Tonight, she wore one of her around the house casual looks, which that night meant a pair of stretchy spandex workout shorts that conformed well to her round, fit ass, a dark, loose tank top that showed plenty of midriff and barely covered her massive chest, and her long, blonde hair tied up in a casual bun. Even without her makeup and jewelry, I knew she was absolutely stunning for a woman of 39, with a tight, athletic body and a narrow, clever face that seemed to drive guys wild, with big blue eyes and full lips that could usually be found curled in a dangerous smile. She knew how to dress to get a man's attention, and I could swear that there were times she dressed like this around the house to drive me crazy.
"Ethan!" Mom teased back, walking into my room and setting down the basket of laundry she'd braced against her hip. "I don't think this is an unreasonable question to be asking you. I'm your mother, and I'm just trying to look out for you! You're in college now, there should be *plenty* of opportunities to get laid, and I want you to have your chance to enjoy them! I know you enjoy your games, and I don't have a problem with that, but there are a lot of experiences that you just can't have sitting at your computer chair and you have to leave the house for! I mean, I have three kids, and you, my middle child and only son, you're the only one who doesn't seem to understand that a Friday night's meant for drinking and partying and having sex!"
I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose in frustration. I wasn't looking forward to another conversation with Mom about why talking about my sex life wasn't exactly an appropriate conversation topic, and why I, a poster boy for the awkward middle child, was different from my sisters. My older sister, Taylor, might have gone to the same college as me, but between her tattoos and band and partying lifestyle, we might as well have been aliens to each other. My younger sister, Hannah, was a high school senior, a popular cheerleader with a line of boys around the block trying to hook up with her.
My sisters were as popular as they were beautiful and smart, and they were spending their Friday nights the same way they always did: as far away from here as possible. Still, they also knew well enough to leave me to my own devices, which I couldn't exactly say for Mom.
Then again, from what I could tell, there weren't that many people quite like Mom.
Back when she was in high school, my mother, then Jessica Braun instead of Jessica Miller, was a popular cheerleader and party girl herself who was constantly surrounded by friends and excitement yet still managed a 4.0 GPA, even after she got pregnant with Taylor during her senior year. Now that I was roughly the same age as she was then, she expected me to lead the same kind of life.
The problem was, that just wasn't me. While she was vivacious and outgoing (something my sisters both inherited from her in spades), I had always been kind of shy and introverted and drawn to far more traditionally "nerdy" pursuits. I guess it was one of those situations where a kid subconsciously steered into becoming the exact opposite of their parent, and while Mom had always done her best to understand me, there were some things that we simply seemed incapable of seeing eye to eye on.
"Mom," I sighed, "I'm happy here. And I'm not getting up to any trouble. Aren't you happy I'm not getting in trouble?"
While Hannah was a goody-two-shoes, Taylor had gotten into plenty trouble the last couple years, enough that I thought this might be the ace in the hole I needed.
Mom rolled her eyes at me. "I'm obligated as your mother to say *yes* to that, but as your friend, I'm telling you that life is meant to be lived, and some of that involves getting in at least a *little* trouble."
Yeah, that sounded about right for her.
Since she had become a mother fresh out of high school, and the worthless sperm donor you could call my father had abandoned us when I was four, Mom had often behaved more as a best friend to me and my sisters than she had a mother at times. Mind you, this isn't to say she was a bad mom, or anything like that. I couldn't have asked for any better, really, but when it came to asking for advice, it sometimes meant getting more unconventional answers than I was expecting when I asked.
Or getting this kind of answer when it came down to unsolicited advice.
"Well, trouble's not on the itinerary tonight," I said, smiling and hoping that would be enough.
"That's okay," she shot back, grinning. "There's a whole weekend ahead of you, and I'm sure we can find some kind of trouble for you."
Now I rolled my eyes. "No trouble."
Mom sighed. "You're not giving me a lot to work with."
"No, but I'm not getting in trouble," I said, grinning back cockily.
"Just a *little* trouble?" she insisted, smiling playfully.
"Nope," I confirmed.
"Not even a teensy bit?" Mom continued to prod, her voice getting cutesier and more insistent by the moment.
"Nope," I repeated.
Digging in my heels seemed to only frustrate her, especially since she was more used to me being a bit of a pushover when it came to matters like this.
"Still not giving me a lot to work with, but I can figure something out. You're not out of trouble for not being in trouble yet," Mom sighed, strolling in and sitting down on my bed. "Still, you don't need to get in trouble to get laid (even if it *can* help under the right circumstances). Let's start working with that."
