I know…I know…it is completely wrong, sick and twisted…I told myself the same thing at first.
To explain my strange sexual hunger, my son, Paul, is a complete ringer for his father, Darren, who died in a car accident when Paul was only three. He had the same blue eyes, the same blonde hair and the same dazzling smile.
I had known these facts for years, but as he turned from an adolescent to a man it became even more apparent.
That all said, I had never considered sex with him at all until I accidentally walked in on him sitting at his computer as he stroked his cock. I could argue it wasn’t him I wanted, but just a cock to pound away the cobwebs of my long neglected pussy. Yet, the reality is, putting the pieces together of his good looks, his exact replica voice and his identical big cock, it was definitely him I wanted…it was like I could relive my late teenage years when I originally started dating Darren…or in a morbid sense relive my marriage to the only person I had ever truly loved.
I apologized profusely for not knocking, and it was obvious that Paul was as embarrassed as I was. Yet, that night I couldn’t stop replaying the brief encounter in my mind. At first I was mortified by what I saw…then as I laid in bed trying to fall asleep, my mind began playing tricks on me. Every time I closed my eyes and began to try and reach slumber, my son stroking his completely erect, thick cock popped into my head. I would immediately jolt up and shake my head for thinking such an inappropriate thought…yet as soon as I laid back down and closed my eyes the exact same scene would repeat itself…I was in the incest version of the Groundhog Day movie. Eventually, out of sheer exhaustion, I fell asleep. Obviously, it wasn’t a great night’s sleep.
The next morning, Paul and I pretended it didn’t happen, but, of course, you can’t erase the past, and an unacknowledged awkwardness began between us.
Over the next month, even as my morals argued it was completely wrong…my too long ignored libido screamed it was okay. I began pleasuring myself while imagining my vibrator was Paul’s cock fucking me. I sucked my dildo imagining it was Paul’s cock I was sucking.
Whenever I looked at Paul, I saw Darren.
Whenever I talked to Paul, I heard Darren.
It became unhealthy and obsessive, and it soon began to consume all my thoughts and dreams.
I regressed to my teen years as I began, inadvertently at first, attempting to entice my son, like I had his father all those years ago.
Although I wasn’t as thin as my perfect body cheerleading days, I was still in decent shape. Sure I could lose a few pounds, but who couldn’t? The beginning of grey was showing up in my black as night hair, but so far I hadn’t thought it showed enough to dye it. I had always been slightly chubby, being big-boned like my father, thus I had large, all natural, 38DD breasts and a wide ass. Conversely though, I have long thin legs which had both breast men and leg men often checking me out.
For the record, I had dated a few men over the years, a couple even potentially going further, yet none were Darren. Thus, I always found a way to end the relationship before it got to the moving stage. I realized I already had the perfect man in the house…it was now time to make it happen.
I began wearing shorter skirts at home, tighter blouses and heels…the things that had always got me what I wanted from men. Although my son did seem to notice my ample cleavage, I realized even if he was interested sexually in me he was way too shy to make a move…especially since I was his mother.
So at supper one day, six weeks since first seeing his cock, I decided to ask questions and learn more about his preferences.
At the table, I started by asking the usual question, “What did you learn today?”
He responded like he always did, with the teenage staple answer to almost any question asked by a parent, “Nothing.”
I quoted, “Why do I pay school taxes then?”
He responded making my mouth drop open, the irony dripping, “So I can learn that some think Hamlet and his mother had an incestuous relationship.”
I gasped. My son had brought out the very topic I was planning to try to get to in less than thirty seconds. Did he too know what I was feeling? What I was wanting? Did he want me as much as I wanted him?
I joked composing myself, “Apparently, the message of Hamlet has changed since I was in school.”
Paul continued, “No, the message is still about religion, revenge and becoming a man, but if you read deeper into the words of Shakespeare it seems clear that Hamlet and his mom were having a sexual relationship.”
I joked again, this time trying to see where his head was about the idea of incest, as I asked, “So you’re telling me that according to Shakespeare to become a man you have to sleep with your mother?”
The words out…I realized I had just asked my son the most leading question ever.
His face went red as he stammered, “I’m not saying that, Shakespeare was.”
“Do you concur?” I asked, dying to hear his answer…his nervous red cheeks adorable…my pussy sopping wet, I waited a long time to let the idea of incest between him and I linger in his mind before I added, allowing him to save face, “That Shakespeare wrote about incest.”
“According to Mrs. Walker, incest back in Shakespeare’s time was quite common among both royalty and the peasant classes, so it wouldn’t be uncommon for a playwright to write about it,” he answered.
Paul shook his head no. “It was a rather brief discussion actually. She just mentioned that if you go to college some professors go much deeper into the subtext of the play and the possible incestuous relationship between Hamlet and his mother.”
“I see,” I said smiling, adding one more subtle hint, “it’s interesting how life always goes full circle.”
Paul asked, “What do you mean?”
“In Hamlet, I don’t completely recall the plot but I remember a speech about going full circle in life and death,” I shrugged, before adding, fishing for a compliment, “but that was a long, long, time ago.”
“Oh, mom, you just turned forty,” he countered.
“I feel fifty, I countered, with a heavy sigh.
“Oh Mom, you’re still a very beautiful woman,” he replied, unable to maintain eye contact with me. Was I making him uncomfortable? Was I turning him on?
“Thank you, son,” I said, standing up, walking over to him, bending down and giving him a big hug. I made sure my ample breasts pressed into him and that my perfume lingered. I bent down and gave him a kiss on the cheek, before adding, “You’re so sweet, just like your dad.”