You can judge me if you want, but I’m not ashamed. If I felt for one second that my son-who’s nineteen, by the way-wasn’t participating willingly, then I’d put an end to it. To the contrary, he has always given every sign of enjoying our sessions and has never spoken a word to me of having second thoughts. All the proof I need is to see and feel the steel hardness of his erection when we’re alone together and the incredible sensation when he cums inside my wet pussy.
I guess I can’t really say who’s idea it was in the beginning. We’ve never talked about it. Maybe it just happened and wasn’t anybody’s preconceived idea. However, I can say this from my perspective: There were several times in the years leading up to the first time we had sex where I lusted after my son. But that first day? I didn’t wake up thinking, ‘I have to screw Tommy today.’
I’m forty-one and, yes, I admit to being more than a little concerned about whether men still find me attractive. Well, that is if they ever did in the first place. But I have reason to believe they did, and still do. I’m taller than average, one hundred and twenty five pounds and well-proportioned. I tint my light brown hair and rarely go on a business trip without at least one opportunity to spend the night with some young executive. I’ve never taken advantage of the opportunity.
That doesn’t mean I’m faultless. I flirt endlessly. Possibly, I just need the reassurance when a guy flirts back. I’ve never used my sexuality to advance professionally, but I know I can use it to get my way sometimes.
Why I started to flirt with my own son I’ll never know. Of course, there’s always the possibility that I wanted a young, athletic stud to find me attractive. That would have been enough. But somewhere, somehow, things got a little crazy.
A clue should have been when I felt contempt for the girls Tommy dated. Possessive isn’t strong enough a term for how I felt about him. I figured I was better than those girls and I knew Tommy better than them. He was lowering himself and I was the only one who could save him; the only one who could teach him what it was like to…
I remember every detail of the first time. It was an ungodly hot day. He was walking around the house in basketball-style shorts and no shirt. The glimmer of sweat drew attention to his muscles like a classic statue. It seemed like no matter what room I was in, he was within sight.
I wore a t-shirt and shorts. For the first time in my life, I went into my bedroom and took off my bra with the sole intent of having my nipples show under my shirt…just for him. The low cut neck of the shirt provided ample views of my cleavage and I found myself seeking out new ways to let him see.
I was on fire with lust by the middle of the afternoon. I knew we were going to be alone all day. Tommy sat on the couch, half reclining with his feet on the coffee table, and I was desperate to flirt.
“Is that all you’re going to do all day?” I said when I walked in.
He shrugged. “I enjoy watching you work.”