The young men and women in town have mastered the art of hiding their relationships in town. I know. I lived it once. I was wild in my younger days. I’m the stereotypical Midwest woman. Straw blonde hair (now dyed to hide the little bit of gray), cornflower blue eyes, nice full lips, and a slim figure I work hard at keeping by running and doing yoga.
Heh. I suddenly remembered the first time my son had called me ‘hot’. I had been so surprised to hear it I had snorted and looked at him in shock and admonished him, telling him that sons don’t say that to their mothers. He looked so upset after I said that, that I had immediately apologized, thanked him for the beautiful lie, and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips. A motherly kiss. Perfectly normal.
My son would later confess to me that he had left the room, went upstairs and masturbated thinking of me. Not his first time, either. I had no idea my son had been masturbating, thinking of me for a long time. Now I loved to know it. That I did that to him. That I was his most secret desire. Dammit, I adore my son. He’s perfect. And I made him. That makes me proud.
My son had been working in the bank since he turned eighteen. I got him the job, the bank manager doing a favor for me. I’m sure the manager had expected some kind of reward, but not from me. I had thanked him profusely. And his eyes had roamed my body. As always. Something as a woman you either accepted–that men would ogle you if you had the looks–or something that made you angry and upset despite there be nothing you could do about it. So, I accepted it. As soon as I had started to show signs of being a woman, men stared. Women attract men. And so long as they only look, there’s no harm. Women who lose their mind over this need help. Such a wasted emotion, in my opinion. Can you imagine telling a moth to ignore the light? No, you can’t. It’s the same with men.
I just realised I’m actually enjoying writing all this out. It’s therapeutic. I’ll get Desmond to check it out later as we’ve discovered a mutual love of erotica. We find wonderful mother and son erotica and act out some of the sex scenes. It’s so much fun. So much fun. Not porn though. I convinced Desmond to stop watching porn and I think he has stopped. I provide all the relief he will ever need. I’m at his beck and call. The number of times he has simply taken me in our home… so many wonderful memories. I love feeling his strong hands grab my waist and pull me back toward him and claiming me. Pushing me down over the counter, or the table, or the bed, or the back of the couch. He loves looking down at my ass as he ploughs me. Fills me. Completes me. And I take it. And welcome it. My son, my conqueror.
I would do anything for my son. He’s my lover and soulmate. And he would do anything for me. I am loved, pleasured, cared for, and protected. Does it get any better than that?
When I was a young teenager, I had a thought once. What if the entire universe is something my mind has created? What if everything is there only for me and because of me? What a lonely existence that would be. That everyone and everything is simply manufactured out of your own mind and imagination. I almost believed that until my son and I merged as one. I have no doubts that my son and I share the same mind. He exists and lives in his head but with me. We become one. I can see it in his eyes when he makes love to me. It’s as if there is only him and me in the universe. The rest is just our imagination. But there’s two of us, and I’m not alone.
I think I’m delaying telling this story. I’m so sorry. I just lose track these days. My life has become such a pleasure. I wake every day pressed up against my son. Every morning I take his wonderful cock in my mouth and pleasure him. Then he pleasures me. Then we shower together. Eat breakfast together. Then we go to work together. Eat lunch together. Come home together. Watch movies together. Go to bed together and pleasure each other until sleep takes us. Every day. I’m so fortunate. It’s been a year now and we never tire of it. His existence completes mine.
I will say early on that there are two other important people in our lives. And inside my home, we all co-exist, and the rest of the town doesn’t even blink. It’s perfect.
I’m still delaying. Sorry. Okay. Whew. I’m shaking a little now. This starts so embarrassingly.
* * *
My son surprised me by bringing home his latest girlfriend for dinner. He had turned twenty the week before and I know he lost his virginity to this same girl from his high school. At prom. Typical. Surprisingly, they stayed together afterward. They were always seen around town, hand-in-hand, and everyone assumed they were destined to marry and raise a family. A Midwest mentality.
Now our town is small, and you know everyone. Mostly, but most of the students from the high school were unknown to me, other than those that used the bank, but even then, I had a back office and didn’t meet senior teenagers. They don’t take out mortgages. After two years of him refusing to introduce me, I insisted she come over for dinner so I could meet her finally and after a lot of nagging on my part, he grudgingly agreed. That’s what surprised me: that he finally agreed to introduce me to her. Which was unusual, I thought, until I met her for the first time.
She looked like me at her age. Not just a little bit. She looked like me. Same face shape, same hips, same bust, same length of legs, same hair, and eyes. I could show you a picture of me when I was twenty. She was my twin.
I stood in the doorway staring at a mirror image of myself and my very first thought was: He fucked a girl who looked like me. He wooed her and fucked her because she looks just like me.
For the first time since I had birthed my son, I felt a strong surge of sexual hunger. It hit me like a thunderbolt. My legs threatened to fail me. I put a hand against the wall and tried to breathe as my body betrayed me. Desire washed over me, and I went from cold to hot. My clothes were too tight. My bra crushed my chest and felt two sizes too small. My thighs pressed together to try to hold back the warmth and tingling.
I was so ashamed of myself. I knew exactly what was happening. I had had these thoughts before. Random flashes of thoughts thinking of being intimate with my son. They would come and go, and I would dismiss them as just silly thoughts, convinced it was perfectly normal. And my psychologist agreed. It was perfectly normal, she had said. Children imagine being sexual with their parents and parents imagine being sexual with their offspring. But it is never acted on. Never pursued. Just flights of fancy that come and go.
Desmond, of course, rushed to my side, concern all over his face. He grabbed my upper arm to steady me, and his fingers brushed my left breast. He couldn’t help it. My breasts spread a little beyond the side of my body. A curse and a blessing. His fingers around my arm pressed into my breast flesh, and it only made matters worse.