Mom and son, Love is within reach but requires a catalyst to come alive, It was my friend Samantha who planted the seed in my head.
She was visiting me one Saturday morning and as usual we were sitting on my balcony, drinking coffee and gossiping, when my son called from the backyard. I looked down to see what he wanted and Samantha got up from her chair and went to the edge of the balcony to look at him with me. He was about to mow the lawn and wanted to know if it would be okay with us if he started the lawnmower or would the noise disturb us. I told him to carry on and turned my attention towards Samantha.
She was still looking at him. I waited for her to come back to her chair before we could resume our conversation. She didn’t budge. She continued standing there looking down at my son as I heard the lawnmower start and come to a steady level of noise. I became curious—and a bit startled at the same time. I didn’t like the way she was so engrossed and I definitely didn’t like the simper on her lips. Knowing that her attention was on my son, I became a bit protective. My voice must have betrayed that protectiveness when I said, “Come, Samantha. Sit down, enough already.”
She looked at me rather coyly and said, “Come here, I want to ask you something.”
Reluctantly I got up and stood next to her. My son was pushing the lawnmower effortlessly from one end to the other. He had taken his T-shirt off and there were streaks of perspiration running down his back and his stomach. His hair were wet at the base and combed back, probably with his hands, as drops ran down onto his neck.
“What?” I asked.
“That,” She pointed at my son. “Don’t you just want to maul that body?”
I slapped her on the side of her arm, “Watch it, now. He is my son.”
“Yes, I know, but don’t you ever get tempted to teach him a thing or two that he normally wouldn’t learn in college.”
“You have no shame,” I laughed, “no shame at all.”
She turned towards me, grabbed my hands and said, “No, I am serious. I mean, don’t you ever just want to sneak into his bed at night and have your way with him.” She looked very serious indeed and that worried me.
“No, I don’t.” I pulled my hands out of hers and pushed her towards her chair. “Now, stop that nonsense.”
“Well, if you don’t, then can I?” She laughed. “Just let me in one night and point his room out to me. I’ll take it from there.”
I laughed with her, relieved that it probably was just a joke. “I don’t think he can handle you.”
She broke down, “I am so frustrated. I am sorry about what I said.”
“It’s okay, Sam. It’s okay.” I comforted her, knowing full well what she meant.
When she left, I got up with her and walked her out to her car. Her words were still ringing in my ears when I came back to the balcony to clear up. As I gathered the dishes, I unconsciously looked down onto the backyard again. He had finished mowing the lawn and was now busy weeding. I watched for a split second as his shoulder blades showed pushing and pulling movement as the little hand shovel dug into the soft soil. I then jerked my head to clear her words out and quickly took the dishes down to the kitchen.
As I stood at the sink washing them, I looked up and found myself looking at my son again through the window. He had finished weeding and was now watering the flower beds. It looked like he had intentionally splashed some water onto his body. There were streaks of water on his arms, stomach and chest. There were drops of mist on his face and hair. Normally I would have just smiled at his playfulness, but today I felt somewhat uncomfortable, even guilty. I couldn’t help but remember Sam’s engrossed look as I saw a drop or two hanging on his lips. Two things came to mind quickly: One, why was he using the hose when we had sprinklers, and two, why was I washing dishes by hand when we had a dishwasher. I quickly left the kitchen and went to my bedroom, cursing Samantha under my breath for putting her thoughts into my head.
Around four or so in the evening, as I was trying to get through a ton of laundry, he came to the garage and said, “I am going out, mom.”
As I saw him standing in the doorway, dressed in slacks and shirt, wearing dress shoes, hair combed with a part on one side, and a tuft of hair hanging on his forehead nuzzling his right eyebrow, I understood for the first time what Samantha was talking about.
“Have fun, honey.” I tried to be as nonchalant as possible as I turned my attention immediately to the washing machine. I was unable to look him in the eyes for some reason.
When I heard the front door shut close, I ran to the garage door. There was a stepladder next to the tools counter. I quickly grabbed it and used it to look through one of the glass panes on top of the door. His car was parked across the road to keep it safe from the lawnmower. He took long and confident steps as he walked towards it. I saw him press the remote to unlock the car. I saw him open the door and swing his head from left to right to look around before getting into the car. That tuft of hair swung in the opposite direction. The movement of his head was so sensuous that something snapped inside of me, or maybe something came right, I don’t know, but I almost slapped myself for the thoughts that were now echoing Samantha’s words.
He was big and strong and looked like a man. I felt warm around my neck and my heart skipped a beat or two as I realized that my reaction was so foreign, yet so vaguely familiar. I felt ashamed at the sweet pain that had suddenly started to emanated from my heart. My legs felt weak at the realization that a certain part of my being hadn’t died those many years ago; instead it was alive and well and able to kick-start at the slightest nostalgic provocation.
It was my son—for God’s sake—that was the catalyst to bring those feelings out that I had buried deep within my frozen self, and it wouldn’t have been possible without Sam, although her contribution was minute compared to the outcome. As I stepped down, I was feeling guilty, again, and very ashamed. I took a few deep breaths to calm down and quickly came back to the machine to get my mind off the subject.
My heart skipped another beat when the first thing I took out of the basket turned out to be my son’s briefs. I had touched his underwear many times in the past, but this time I felt warm all over as I felt the fabric in my hand. I felt weird at the realization that I was holding something that had been so intimate with my son, well, actually with that man that had caused such a sweet reaction in me. This time I cursed myself, and I cursed aloud. Why the hell was I reacting like a school girl and why was my reaction so strong, so quickly? I had no answer.
I struggled to force my hand to put that garment in the machine. Instead my hand brought it closer to my face. The shame became unbearable as I stretched my hand on the inside and felt the place where his penis must have rested and took a strong, deep inhalation of the hormones still present in the fabric. It felt nice and arousing and erotic and overwhelming and hugely shameful. I quickly threw the briefs towards the washing machine and ran inside the house.
The shame, the guilt, and yes, the excitement stayed with me throughout the evening and throughout the weekend. I stayed out of his way as I tried to get Samantha’s voice out of my head. I had cursed her repeatedly throughout the weekend for the great injustice she had done me. She had changed my son into a man. She had changed me into a woman, instead of a mom. She had taken away the shield that had kept him an innocent little boy in my eyes. She had replaced my son with an attractive, young college boy, whose mere thought made my legs weak and my vagina moist.
That last thought was the scariest. I hadn’t felt like that since I was a teenager. In such a brief moment, I was reliving one of my fondest memories, and it was a lot more painful to admit that my son had the qualities that only a man of my dreams possessed. That fucking bitch! I wanted to choke her.
It took me a week to come to terms with my reaction. I failed to completely shake things out of my system though, but at least I gained control over my emotions. I was able to be in my son’s presence without feeling flustered. He noticed my situation, but he didn’t know what the real problem was. He asked me a few times if I was okay and I had left it by saying only that I wasn’t feeling well.
Next Saturday morning, as I lay in my bedroom, listening to the steady roar of the lawnmower and daring not to go outside, a question came to my mind. It was involuntary, as I was trying very hard to keep myself occupied with other things, but it was a question that I felt I wanted to have answered. Somehow, something brought the following question to mind: Is it possible that my son feels the same way about me? My psyche was in such turmoil that while it was busy trying to dislodge Samantha’s thoughts from my head, it was at the same time exploring possibilities of actually carrying her suggestion out.
I gasped as I realized the possibility. I mean, there I was, excited over my son. Was it possible that a healthy, strong, virile young man like him would reciprocate my feelings and find me exciting as well? I couldn’t contain myself thinking what if it was possible. I mean, the implications of my thoughts were immense. If possible, it would mean that I was still able to excite a man like him. My self-esteem prayed for that to be true while my loins sent currents to my breasts and my brain. There was a tiny voice that suggested that may be it wasn’t possible but my wet vagina somehow drowned that voice out very quickly. My erect nipples prodded my imagination to explore such a possibility even further and made it to consider the actions that would take place given that he felt the same way as I did and we connected, we copulated, we joined as one. Oh, the shivers that ran up my spine with those thoughts! I couldn’t stop my legs from spreading as I imagined the copulation taking place, what with my knees against my breasts, my feet resting on his back, and he firmly pressed inside…whoa, I had to stop myself from going any further and forced my hand away from my pussy.
No, I said to myself. It is not possible. Why not? I asked myself. What’s wrong with me that a man with hormones spilling out of his loins wouldn’t find me a sexual being? Is it possible that he had sexual fantasies about me? What if he did? My legs weekend and I squirmed in my bed in despair trying to shut my brain from thinking. It wasn’t doing me any good.
But the seed grew. I had to accept the fact that I was sexually aroused by my son—thanks to that bitch Samantha. What I wanted to know was if he found me sexually arousing as well. It would only be fair if he did, not to mention that it would be a big boost to my ego, which I probably needed as badly as Sam did.
Only problem with that question was that I didn’t know of a way to find out the answer. I mean, yes, I could ask him directly, but imagine his reaction if his own mother were to approach him to find out if he was sexually excited by her. I had to get real. Instead, I had to see if he showed the slightest interest in me by getting him to give me the smallest possible hint of interest. I didn’t know at that time what such a hint would be, but I knew that if he gave any—a glance, a stare, a touch, or even a gleam in his eyes—I would know. I had to know. I wanted to know. I wanted it to be there. Oh, how I hoped it was there!
I first tried to just look into his eyes and see if he would betray some interest. I found none. I only spotted the look a son gives his mother. I then started to wear some revealing clothes, to put some makeup on, to splash some provocative perfume on, and even ask him how I looked in each new dress or hairdo. His response was always, “You look great, mom.”
In the end I just gave up. I could only go so far without alarming him that his mother was behaving like a loon. I was so desperate to get some validation of my womanhood that I had put aside all shame and guilt, only to fail in the end and be left empty handed.
I shed quite a few tears for myself; collected my broken ego; repented my deed; and decided to move on with my empty life. By then I was able to control my emotions towards him and somehow, unintentionally, he had put an end to my sorry state of being by rejecting me without even knowing that it was happening. I actually hated myself for being the way I was and I hated Samantha for getting me there.
Then came that momentous evening.
I was getting ready to go out to a movie with Sam, when I realized that I had left the stove on. I rushed down to the kitchen to turn it off before the food I had prepared for my son and his father [yes, there is a father, don’t ask] got burnt. Thankfully, everything was okay, so I took the pot off the stove and went back to my room to finish getting ready.
As I was climbing the stairs I heard my son yell, “Mom, there are men present in the house.”
“Sorry, son,” I replied and rushed into my bedroom. Only after I was standing in front of the mirror did I realize what had just happened. I had rushed down to the kitchen in my bra and panties. When I realized that my state of undress had actually solicited a response from my son, the kind of response that I had ached to get before, I felt this immense joy. It was an incredible feeling to know that I had succeeded in getting that hint, meagre as it may be. One huge smile spread across my face as I looked at my figure in the mirror, as I observed my breasts oozing out of my bra, as I saw my pubic hair coming through the lace of my panties and as I discovered that my lips were quite visible underneath the see-through material. I gave a muffled scream—a scream of joy.
“So, this is how far I had to go to get that elusive validation,” I exclaimed to myself.
Actually I didn’t know if his response really meant anything, because he could simply be offended by my look; although, I found it very difficult that I could offend him so easily. I believed what I wanted to believe; and I wanted to believe that my son didn’t want to see me so naked because it was having an abnormal effect on him, the kind he is not supposed to have.
Well, well, well! May be he did find me sexually…something. I felt my chest fill with pride as I felt all gloom lift from my spirit. It took so little to invigorate me so much. I was happy to know that I was able to attract a man as exciting as my son, a man who could be classified as a man of my dreams.
I came down wearing my black skirt, red blouse, and matching red high heels. I stood in front of him, grinning from ear to ear, excitement turning me all red, posing like a beauty pageant contestant, and asked him, “Is this better?”
“Much better.”
I left, giddy as a school girl. Samantha was shocked to see me so cheerful but I couldn’t tell her the reason behind my being so happy. So I told her I was happy to be out of the house and with her, which she understood because she could identify with it.
I came home late. The whole house was dark as everyone was sleeping. I wasn’t sleepy, though. I actually wanted to see him before going to bed, but I didn’t want to go to his room in case he was still awake. I had no reason for being there. I didn’t want to go to my room either. I just wanted to revel in the knowledge that I had—finally—gotten a response from my potent, handsome young man just from the way I looked, the way my body looked. A thought in the back of my mind said that may be I was reading too much into things, but that thought was quickly and easily crushed.
I took my shoes off and kicked them under the stairs. I didn’t even notice the noise my action made because my mind was somewhere else. I removed my blouse and skirt and hung them on the banister. I then moved to the kitchen to make myself some coffee. After turning the lights on, I stood in front of the fridge reliving in my mind the moment he saw me dressed so scantily. I wished I had seen his face, only if to verify what was going through his mind. I was feeling good about myself. I was feeling good about my thoughts of him. I didn’t feel guilt or shame about my sexual arousal, and yes, I was aroused, very much so.
I moved from the fridge to the coffee maker. I poured some water into the coffee maker and leaned against the counter as I waited for it to finish making coffee. I was so lost in my own world that I didn’t even realize when all the water had dripped through. I was busy wondering how my son would react if he saw me again undressed the way I was at that very moment. I even contemplated taking the last two pieces off to experience total lack of inhibition.
I didn’t have to wonder for long. He actually showed up.
I heard his door creak a little, followed by his soft footsteps. I straightened myself up a little and braced myself for his entry. My legs were feeling very weak but my butt was being supported by the edge of the counter, so I was able to keep myself from collapsing. I had my hands folded just below my breasts. I quickly dropped them to my sides. I didn’t want any part of the view to be obstructed.
He covered his eyes as he saw me standing there almost nude. “Mom,” he protested. “You shouldn’t be standing around dressed like that.”
“Why not?” I was belligerent, “This is my house.” I was also stirred.
“Yes, but I am your son. I shouldn’t see you like this.”
“Like what? There is nothing here you haven’t seen before.”
He moved his hand away from his eyes and gave me a full look. A solid, piercing look, where I knew he took in the full view. My heart jumped with joy. I felt my pussy liquefying. I had goose bumps all over and they were so strong they were visible from a distance.
“I guess you are right, mom. I am sorry.” He backed off but not before giving me another good and hearty look.
“You want some coffee?” I asked.
“Yeah, may be a cup.”
He went to the TV room and I heard the noise start from one of the channels. I made two cups and took them to where he was. I sat next to him on the sofa and we both drank our coffees in silence.
I sat there for a while longer. He didn’t say anything. He simply kept flipping through the channels. I finally decided to go up. I had my fill of the day and I wanted to get into bed and may be dream about things a little.
I could feel his eyes on my back as I walked away from him. I turned to look at him when I was at the base of the stairs. He had diverted his attention to the TV again. I put my right foot on the second step and rested my right hand, palm down, on my thigh. I held that pose for a while and waited for him to look. He didn’t and soon I realized that he was actually trying very hard to avoid looking at me. I knew why, and once again I felt flattered beyond belief. I was very wet by then.
I finally had to call his name to draw his attention to me.
“Yes, mom.”
He looked at me and tried to seem casual. I knew he wasn’t because I could see his eyes moving from my face to my breasts to my stomach, pause at my pubic area, down my legs, onto my feet and beyond, until finally he focused them on the floor just in front of me. He was trying not to check me out; but had done just that in that one glance.
I held my breath as my heart pounded my chest from within and asked in a very shaky voice, “Does this excite you?”
He looked up at me and held his gaze on my breasts. “No,” he replied.
“Well, if it doesn’t excite you then what is the problem?” I tried to control my erratic breathing by taking a few quick gasps. I couldn’t believe how hot my body was. I couldn’t believe how horny I was.
“I think it is just wrong.”
My heart was beating so fast that I could practically hear it. I stumbled through my next sentences, “In that case…I’ll make…you a deal…I won’t…come in front…of you like…this…if…you don’t…come…in…front of me…shirtless.”
“Why?”
His question was automatic and I had hoped that he would ask that very question so I could say to him what I so strongly needed to say to him. I leaned towards him just enough so he could take in a better view of my breasts and replied, “Because, it has the same effect on me as I am having on you right now.”
There I had said it. I had let it out. He now knew what I was going through. He knew about my feelings—sexual that is—about him. Provided, of course, his feelings for me were also sexual at that very moment. Oh God, how I wished they were!
I went to my room and sat on the balcony for a long time after that.
Next morning I was a bit apprehensive about facing him. I had revealed to him my secret feelings but I really didn’t know if his feelings were similar or if he felt anything at all. He hadn’t given me any indication as such and my statement was meaningless without any reciprocation from him. Although, I doubted if he misunderstood my meanings. Even if he didn’t feel for me sexually, he could easily have deduced how I felt for him. That made it even worst. If he did not feel for me sexually and I told him that I did feel for him sexually, it kind of put me in an awkward predicament
I felt relieved though. The suspense was over for me. I no longer had secret, hidden desire for my son. It was all out in the open, let the chips fall where they may. I prepared for a confrontation, although, in hindsight, I shouldn’t have expected one. After all, the most he could have said was to ask me to stop it.
He gave no reaction. Not a hint of what he thought about my statement; none, whatsoever. Boy, did I feel disappointed. I would have preferred a negative response to a no response at all. I started to mope once again.
On a positive note, now that everything was out in the open, I became more comfortable with my own sexual feelings. I found it pleasant to fantasize about him, about me and him, about me on top of him, about him between my legs, about him inside of me. I was in a constant state of arousal.
I started to enjoy my laundry sessions. I searched for his briefs, felt them inside and out, inhaled every bit of his aroma that I could, even walked around wearing them, feeling the fabric around my pussy that had been around his dick, somehow getting his penis so close to my cunt.
After a few days of self-pity, it occurred to me that I hadn’t seen him around that much. I started to keep an eye on his comings and goings and realized that he was spending a lot less time around the house. It occurred to me that he probably was uncomfortable around me and tried to stay out as much as possible to avoid me. I couldn’t have that. I had to face up to the situation and undo the damage that I had done. I had to have a heart to heart talk with him and let him know that it was a mistake; that we needed to get past it and never look back.
The only problem was that a conversation like that had to take place without anyone disturbing us so we could have as much time as necessary to patch things up. It had to be face to face, no holds barred, no words restricted. I formulated my words carefully, rehearsed them in my mind over and over, and looked at every angle to change things back to the way they once were. And I waited for the right day.
The day finally came. It was a Friday.
I waited for him to come back from college and as soon as he entered the house, I stopped him and asked him, “Son, your dad is out of town on a business trip. Could you stay home in his absence to keep me company?”
He really couldn’t say no and I wasn’t going to accept a no. I wanted him to stay home so we could hash it out. With his father gone, we had all the time in the world to deal with our situation.
I felt very depressed, even hurt. My heart was breaking as I realized that I was about to end a relationship that never even got started. I was surprised how strong my feelings were and it was amazing that I had fallen so hard for him, knowing full well that there was no possibility of a union between us. For a second, I thought of throwing myself at his feet and begging for him to give me one night, but then that would be impossible. The thought was painful, either way.
He was quiet all the way through supper. I was also withdrawn. As we were done and there was that slight pause before getting up to put dishes away, I said to him, “Son, we need to have a serious conversation. Please give me a chance to explain things to you. I want to clear the air if possible and may be, just may be, we can get back to where we were before.”
I looked at him and found him looking down into his empty plate. He stayed quiet.
“Son, answer me please. Would you come and talk to me after I am done clearing up?”
He nodded in affirmative.
I put things away quickly and went to my room to get ready for our talk. I had planned to hold my talk with him in the TV room because that’s where I had mucked everything up the last time. I wanted to brush up quickly and maybe even prepare a cup of coffee, just like that night, before he came from freshening up.
As I stepped out of the bathroom, I found him standing in my door. I realized then that he had understood my “come and talk to me” to mean that he should come to my room and talk to me. It was okay with me. Actually it was a lot easier to talk in a casual way in my room than in a rigid way as I would have done downstairs on the sofa.
I grabbed his hand as a friendly gesture and led him to my bed. He sat on the side my dresser was and I pulled my little stool and sat next to the bed facing him. I held both of his hand in mine, looked deep into his eyes, and asked him in my best maternal voice, “Now, tell me, are you so angry with me that you can’t even face me and have to stay away from me?”
He was looking at his hands—well at our hands. He mumbled something but I couldn’t quite catch all the words.
I leaned forward and said, again in my best maternal voice, “Son, I can’t hear you. Can you please say it again?”
My face was close to his and my eyes were focused on his forehead. He tried to avoid looking at me and repeated, “I am not mad at you, mom.”
“Then what is the problem. Why are you staying away from me?”
He hesitated. I squeezed his hand to get him to say what was on his mind.
He finally relented, “I am not staying away from you, mom. I am running away from you.”
“Why, son?” I was a bit shocked at his confession. I actually had expected the worst and he was going in the opposite direction.
He finally blurted out, “Because…I have to.”
“Why, because you get excited by me?” I gave him a big, naughty smile. My smile was coming from deep within my being.
He tried to avert his eyes from me but I followed them wherever they focused. I asked again, “Why, because you are afraid that you’ll lose control in my presence?”
He was quiet. I continued, “Son, listen. I am relieved to know that you are not mad at me. I am also relieved to know that you do have some feelings for me because you know that I have strong feeling for you. I actually wanted you to have feelings for me and now that I know you do, we can accept the situation and learn to live with it.”
“How do we learn to live with it?”
“Well, for one, it is okay to feel this way. There is nothing wrong with being sexually excited by your mother or your son. It is only natural when he is so handsome and she is beautiful.” I was encouraged by the slight hint of smile on his face. “It is actually healthy to have such strong drive that even your mother can make you…horny. You should be proud. Not very many men can say that. At the same time, it is okay for me to be aroused by you because you are so manly and I am in my sexual prime.”
I paused for a second and then continued, “The only problem is that we can’t act on our feelings, but we can accept them wholeheartedly and move on. Do you understand me, son?”
He nodded.
“Good, I am glad. Now, let’s get over everything.”
I got up and he did too. I gave him a hug and said, “Son, I love you. Let’s not let any hang ups ruin that.”
“I love you too, mom.”
As he was leaving the room, I said, “Son, if you want, you can come watch a movie with me…if you want. It will give us a chance to be comfortable in each other’s company.”
My relief was tremendous. I found myself whistling as I prepared for the evening. I was happy. Sure, we had ended what could have been, but we had also moved to a new level, which normal mother-son combos don’t get a chance to get to. As I waited for him to return, I found myself applying a bit of makeup and some lipstick. I didn’t take much notice of it. I brushed my hair and put them into a nice pony tail. I went to my closest and found my favourite vest and pink satin sleep shorts. I wore nothing else. I was floating on air, for some reason, as I opened my bed and jumped in.
I don’t know why but I felt the smoothness of my legs to see if there were any stubble problems that I could quickly take care of. I, then, sat in a kneeling position and started flipping through the channels. I muted the sound though, just so I could hear him coming.
When he came, he was wearing his pyjamas that I had bought for him recently. I kept my eyes on the TV, flipping through the channels with sound still on mute. I took my hand off of my stomach and tapped the bed to indicate that he should come and lie next to me. He came and got into bed. I was sitting in the middle of the bed as he spread himself next to me. I could feel the warmth of his body even though there was some distance between us. I could see his feet and part of his legs from where I was sitting. I sat there flipping through the channels as he quietly lay next to me.
Minutes passed like that. I had my left hand across my stomach again with the right elbow leaning on it as I continued flipping channels. He lay there quietly with his head propped on the pillows. From where he was, he could see my entire back from my head down to the tip of my toes.
He didn’t say anything about the sound or the movie that we were supposed to be watching. I stayed focused on the TV as I felt his eyes all over me, or maybe that was just an illusion.
I heard his breathing and knew that it was a bit abnormal. I stayed in that pose. I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to do anything. I just wanted to be sitting there, waiting for some signal, some response, some initiation from him.
It came in the form of his index finger touching the bottom of my big toe. He pressed on it lightly as if he was playing some sort of a game with me. I didn’t move. He stopped after the first touch. I figured he was testing the waters. My heart was pounding hard.
He came back to my big toe again and this time he covered the ball of my left foot. It was a gentle touch at first then it became a slow caress. I kept my pose and kept flipping through the channels. I started breathing though my mouth so as not to betray my state. I guess lack of any response from me encouraged him a bit and he moved to the heel. He started running his index finger over my heel. It felt good, very good actually, even though the touch was mostly nonsexual.
He moved his finger to my right heel and this time instead of caressing it, he started to trace the outside edge of it. I waited for the contact to become somewhat sexual and it did when his finger rubbed against my butt where it rested on the back of my foot. However, I didn’t move and kept my pose.
He didn’t know if he was allowed to venture into that area but I didn’t stop him. Still, it looked like he didn’t want to risk being told not to do it and he stopped himself. I waited quietly. I didn’t want to encourage, discourage, or lead him in any way. I wanted him to do as he pleased and I wanted to sit back and enjoy everything as passively as possible. Although I realized that I had to give him some sort of feedback or he may take my silence as a no.
He came back to my heel again. This time his finger covered more area on my ass. Soon, his finger was gently, ever so gently, tracing lines on my butt. I stayed in my pose, flipping channels as before, although the speed at which I was flipping was slower. My mind was taking in every millimetre covered by his finger. Soon he went from tracing small straight lines to making small circles. I was very wet and my brain was in extremely high state of stimulation.
I bit my lower lip as he started to move his finger from one cheek to the other and back. Along the way he covered the part in between the two cheeks with as slow a speed as his trembling fingers could muster. I was electrified beyond belief. By now he must have clearly understood that he had my full blessings to proceed in whatever direction he chose—and he chose his direction well. He started to trace the line separating my cheeks.
He caressed the line running downward on my ass. I was on fire as I felt his finger ever so slightly stroke my butt right down the centre with even pressure on each cheek. He succeeded in getting a feedback from me—finally—as I couldn’t help but give a low moan. No sooner had the sound left my throat, I felt his finger push my cheeks apart and make its way deeper through the satin. My shorts did not pose any serious hindrance to his roving digit, even though the angle at which I was sitting made it only possible to go so far before he found the path closed.
I then decided to hell with everything and jumped into the fray. I leaned forward and put my face on the comforter. I extended my arms as far as possible and grabbed the edge of my bed as my breasts pushed into my knees. I raised my feet so that they were perpendicular to my body and my butt came upward with it. I pushed my feet apart enough for him to manoeuvre his way around down below or up above. I then waited for his next move.
He also decided to hell with everything and started to pull my shorts down and off of my hips. I raised my butt enough to let them slide off and then lifted myself to allow him to ease them completely off of my body. I felt a draft as I lay there in that position of submission, butt-naked and dripping wet. “What would be his next move?” I wondered. “Would he touch my lips? Would he fondle my clitoris? Would he run his hand all over my hips, thighs and pussy?”
Well, he surprised me. He placed the tip of his tongue on my asshole. Apparently the draft I had felt earlier was his breathing on my anus. I gave a loud “umph” as my body contracted forward and upward to get away from that wet, warm, and soft appendage of his. I couldn’t believe how erotic that touch was. His hot tongue on my cold anus, licking gently almost caressingly, sending millions of impulses up my spine, making my neurons fire all through my body. I started to buck slightly at first, more severely soon thereafter. I was trying very hard to keep my position so he could continue pumping that charge through my ass with his tongue, while at the same time thrashing around to dislodge him because I couldn’t take it. It was too strange, too powerful, and too stimulating for me. I was surprised, nay shocked, at the stimulation my anus was giving me. It was even more than my clitoris, so much more that I had my first orgasm with my son; he never having touched my clit even once. It was some orgasm though. It had been building for weeks and when it finally arrived, I felt my entire self turning inside out.
Once it was over, I collapsed forward. I was almost off of the bed, that’s how far I fell. He grabbed my legs and pulled me back while at the same time flipped me over onto my backside. He had this triumphant smile on his face as he stood there towering over me like a high-rise building. I squirmed around as if trying to get away from him while he quickly took his clothes off. For the first time in my life I saw a high-rise building protruding out of another high-rise. His dick looked so immense from where I was supine that I gasped with amazement.
He didn’t waste too much time and before I knew it I was feeling that high-rise trying to impale me. He was holding my ankles as I felt my knees against my breasts and my feet rubbing his sides. My thighs were in contact with his and my pussy was being pressed inwards with what felt like a huge pestle. He was trying to get inside of me but instead of opening me wide, he was pressing my lips inward and closing my hole. I screamed as I fumbled around between my legs to stop him from sealing me completely. I grabbed his huge shaft and pushed it away, long enough to open my lips and let the tip of his cock settle in the middle of my hole. I then pressed my lips out and around his penis to make sure that they were out of the way. As he pressed this time, I braced myself to come apart at the seams.
He pushed inward. The pressure that he put on his piston expanded his cock outward as my pussy gave as much resistance as a wet, well-lubricated, thoroughly hot pussy could, and before I could scream “Oh!” I felt myself dilating. I remembered the time I had once before dilated because of this very son, and there I was dilating again as my son tried to get into my vagina, head-first. I could feel his rubbery dick pressing my hole outward slowly, and I could feel my lips and my skin rubbing against his ever widening head as it bored into me. I stretched and stretched, until I thought I could stretch no more. I felt my pussy expand to its maximum size and beyond as his penis made its way through me. Just when I thought I was about to rip apart, my lips relaxed and my hole quickly closed a little. His head was through and I felt this tremendous relief when I realized that I actually was able to take in that huge cock. Of course, I only managed to take in the circumference. Nothing was certain about the length. Soon I found out about that too. Once his head was in, the resistance my pussy was giving decreased. Suddenly the pressure he was exerting overwhelmed my inside and the rest of his cock slipped in almost instantaneously. I felt it reach to a depth within me that I never even knew I had. I felt it touch my heart, which by the way had jumped into my throat with that last firm shove. He was in me. My son was inside of me. My pussy was filled with my son and if I had put my hand on my belly I would surely have felt him throbbing inside. Of course my hands were firmly positioned on his hips urging him on and in even further. I had never felt such firm butt before in my life. Actually I had never felt a cock that firm before either. It was as if some power had granted me my deepest wish, the man of my dreams had finally come into my life.
Not only did he come into my life, he actually came into me. He came inside of me. It only took a few thrusts. As I finished settling into a nice comfortable position and as he reached as deep as it was possible, he exploded. I felt his sperm spurt out in my cervix—well, it felt like it had made it all the way to my uterus. And there was a lot of it. I began to overflow while he was still halfway done. By the time all the sperm settled into me, I could feel it trailing down my anus, all the way to the bed.
This time he collapsed. He collapsed rather heavily onto me. I held him in my arms for a long while as his huge cock softened slowly. My pussy closed on it little by little until it closed far enough to force it out ever so gently. The amazing thing was that up until then, he hadn’t touched my breasts, except when he collapsed on top of me, and we hadn’t kissed even once. Of course we had the rest of the night and the whole weekend to sort that out. Then, there was the rest of our lives…but I didn’t want to think that far ahead. I was content in knowing that once in my life, that even at my age, I could feel those special feelings and be with that special man that some women yearn for all their lives to no avail. That reminded me of Samantha, and I chuckled as I imagined the look on her face when I would reveal my secret to her. Or may be I won’t. I had plenty of time to decide.
