A damaged mother takes her son’s virginity

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Mother takes her son’s virginity

The Customer, a fat little balding man, got out of his chair and extended his chair.

“Thank you Grace.”

I thanked him back and wished him a good day. With his departure, a smile broke across my face. Our deal concluded, the man would be moving into his new home within a few days.

My name is Grace and contrary to my job as a real estate agent, I’m actually an introvert that posses good communication skills. Type of person that stays to herself so much that she has never had a relationship with another person besides her son. Actually he was the reason why I hadn’t.

At thirty-four, I had an eighteen-year old boy named Mike. You may see the issue with the age, but I assure you that being pregnant at fourteen wasn’t my fault. My family had been strictly religious. They were so religious I had been blamed when the pastor was found with me naked by his secretary. Luckily, our church leader’s secretary had seen an issue with it and had called the cops, but not before the father had graced me with his ‘holiness.’

The scandal had been terrible for me. My parents flipped and shoved me out the door. Fortunately, an aunt took me in and not only raised me, but also helped raise Mike. Her connections and money also helped me set myself up for a successful career. However, no matter how hard she tried, I just couldn’t get over the rape and had avoided men outside of a professional manner. That and the chastity was also cemented over being religious myself. I wanted to wait until I found the one. With virtually no sex drive, I could look hot and not get anything from it other than good sales.

I sighed before sitting back in my chair. Paperwork needed filing and I went through organizing different accounts. Lunch was soon and I was pretty excited about getting a bowl of hot soup and a sandwich at the diner across the street from the office. Then, my phone went off.

The notification on the home screen told me the message was from Mike. Mike and I texted almost constantly. He was on lunch break right now at school. Texting is how we communicated most of the time. We talked about everything important in text, mostly because I avoided a lot of drawn out conversation. In the end, it allowed a ton of autonomy. Looking down, I let out a gasp at what I saw.

*Yeah, I’d fuck her.*

The words sat there on my screen as I shook in shock. How do I reply to that? We have never talked about sex. Even sexual things were off limits only because the subject had never been breached. Just the thought of sex crippled me from being able to function as emotional scars reopened.

My phone clattered to the desk and I got up. No longer excited about lunch, I grabbed my coat and gathered my purse before heading out into the wintry wonderland that was in full swing. Getting into my car, I sped home, trying to escape reality and reassert control.

Tears flowed profusely from my eyes, causing my eyeliner to streak down my cheeks. I looked into my green eyes in the rear-view mirror as my hands shook. My breath became labored by the time I arrived home. In a flash, I was out of my car and standing in front of the door to my home. With my shaking hands, it was difficult get the door unlocked. I managed it somehow and soon was within the safe solitude of my room. Dropping my purse to the floor, I crashed on my bed looking at my phone with the message still visible.

There I was on my bed sobbing and rocking into one of the many “cute” pillows that I had. It was one of the things I splurged on and that was my fortress of solitude. The room was stacked with stuffed animals, some big and others small. They made me feel safe and after a few minutes, I recovered some, but that message was there, staring at me.

Reaching out tentatively, I picked the phone up. Normally the two of us were open. My son was the only connection with any man that I had and so I didn’t want to ruin that.

*Who do you want to fuck?*

I stared at my response for a long time before sending it. Immediately my son responded.

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