Teenage son takes care of Mom after new baby arrives

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Teenage takes care of Mom after new baby arrives, incest stories, I can’t begin to describe how much my life has changed these past couple of years. I wonder sometimes if I am going to be ruined for any other woman because of my relationship with my ; yet I can’t seem to think about anything else. My heart starts racing even as I write this, knowing Mom told me to tell our story, and she is waiting to read it.

It started when I was 18 and in my last year of high school. My mom was 39 and to everyone’s surprise, including her own, she got pregnant. I honestly didn’t even know my parents did anything that often, as they fought a lot and he was either working outside or spending time with his friends. I never understood it because my mom was like a throwback to the 1950’s, only more fun. She did everything around the house and treated my dad like a king. Waited on him, did all the laundry and cooking and cleaning; in addition to her 9-5 job as a legal clerk. Only thing he did was “man” stuff like fix things and take care of the yard. He was not a bad guy he just did not spend time or appreciate her like he should have.

Anyway, I was busy a lot that last year of school, and I did not take the time to help out around the house until mom was in the last 3 months of her pregnancy. I played football and was involved with stuff at school, but I was not overly popular with girls or guys. Once football season was over, I started to hang around more at home.

I don’t know what it was, but my mom looked absolutely stunning to me all of a sudden. I had never once paid attention to a pregnant woman, unless I saw one on a beach or something, but there was just something amazing about seeing mom with her belly getting so big. She was still very active; going to yoga classes after work, shopping, taking care of the house and generally not slowing down one iota. She dressed very sexy, or at least what I considered very sexy, for a woman that was six or seven months pregnant. Mom shunned those baggy clothes and seemed delighted with her new found shape. Snug, form-fitting, yet classy blouses, sweaters and skirts for work; tight leggings and jeans, with sexy tops for weekends. And those flannel or silk “jammies” as she called them were too much for me at times. Running around bare foot, bending over the oven or to pick something up; catching a glimpse of her bare belly and her swelling breasts.

I can not tell you how embarrassed I was on more than one occasion when she caught me ogling her while serving dinner or lounging on the couch. Mom would simply smile and go about her business, but inevitably she would make eye contact with me later and I would feel myself turning beet red. Was it my imagination when she started leaning over me more when serving dinner? Or when she started sitting next to me on the loveseat, tucking her feet under her, but in my direction; instead of sitting in her usual spot on the couch? And as the weeks went by, did she really need more help from me and not Dad around the house? Asking me to pull things down from the cabinets or carry the laundry downstairs to the basement. She would always give me a little brush on the arm or a kiss on the cheek, but never really look me in the eye or give me anything extra to go on. She was just being my sweet mom.

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