No more drinking and smoking. I watched my diet and exercised. Taking my vitamins, I did everything that my doctor required me to do to have a healthy baby. Other than his yearly envelope of ten-thousand-dollars in cash, already forgotten, there was no reminder of him.
I always wanted a baby but not this way. I was too young to have my own child. Wanting to live the American dream, I had hoped to eventually fall in love, marry, and have a baby. Yet, eager for that to happen, not even giving it a chance to happen, I never met Mr. Right. Instead, I met Mr. Wrong, a man out for a good time with his friends and who was only after one thing.
Yet, my mistake could have been so much worse. At least he had money to help me to support our child. At least he was willing and could afford to send me ten-thousand-dollars a year, every year to help me support our child.
Yet, not all bad, he served his purpose by giving me what I wanted without the emotionally entanglements. I had a baby with a man I didn’t know and didn’t even remember what he looked like after a night of drinking and after a night of unwed sex. Once I confronted him at his office, as if never happened, I never saw him again.
One of my friends knew where he worked and I went there with my friend. When I told him that I was pregnant, without having to even ask him, he voluntarily gave me more than enough money for an abortion. He wanted to keep me quiet. He didn’t want me to cause him any problems. He didn’t want me to tell his boss and/or his wife. Only, instead of aborting my baby, I used the money he gave me to help raise him.
# # #
Having a talent for writing, I accepted a job as a writer and editor. Then, instead of writing stories for someone else, I started writing stories for myself. I started my own self-publishing business and wrote erotica for fans who’d willingly pay me a small fee to have a custom, creative story to document their true stories or sexual fantasies.
I didn’t make a lot of money but I made enough to pay the bills. Besides, working from home, a huge savings, I had no need for childcare and to pay a babysitter to watch Mathew. Instead, with my son night and day, I watched him grow into a fine, young man. The ten-thousand-dollars came in handy.
I used five-thousand-dollars of it to support ourselves and put the other five-thousand-dollars in a savings account for my son. I figured that when it came time for him to marry, he’d have more than enough money saved to buy a house. He’d have enough money to have a better life than I had becoming pregnant at 18-years-old.
Something we shared and had in common, oddly enough, we were both into roller derby and wrestling. We watched all of the roller derby and wrestling matches on TV. We both loved the women roller skaters and wrestlers because sometimes, their opponent would pull off their tops and expose their naked breasts to the fans. I couldn’t help but imagine my son doing that to me. I’d love for him to remove my top and expose my naked breasts to him.
‘How hot would that be for my son to pull off my top while we wrestled and/or roller skated,’ I thought while imagining being topless in front of my son?
While wrestling with my son, making his touches and gropes seem accidental, I imagined him touching, feeling, fondling, and groping my naked tits. I imagined touching and feeling his erect cock through his pajama bottoms. I imagined his stiff prick emerging from his pajama pee hole and poking me in my ass. I imagined him on top of me and humping me as if I was his whore instead of his mother.
# # #
Then, as soon as he turned 18-years-old and I was 39-years-old, as if he had sexually matured overnight, he looked at me different. He looked at me with unbridled lust. Embarrassing me and making me feel sexually uncomfortable, he looked at me as if he was undressing me with his eyes.
Never imagining that my son would look at me in that incestuous, sexual way, he looked at me as if he imagined me naked and having sex with him. Instead of making me feel embarrassed and ashamed, he made me feel sexually aroused. I wanted him to see me without my clothes.
Always trying to catch me in my bra and panties, topless, and/or naked, he’d barge in my bedroom and open my bedroom door without knocking. I can’t count how many times he caught me dressing and undressing. I can’t count how many times he saw me in my bra and panties, topless, and even naked. I can’t count how many times he caught me without my clothes. Knowing that he was coming down the hall and ready to barge in my bedroom without knocking, I can’t count how many times I allowed him to see me in all manner of undress.
Clearly horny, he demonstrated the same, sexual behavior whenever his grandmother, Natty, visited. Whenever she stayed overnight, he’d barge in her bedroom without knocking. Only, with my mother a horny and despicable, incestuous whore, after having slept with all four of her sons, I knew that she’d sleep with her grandson, too.
Instead of covering her nakedness with her hands, with a towel, or with her nightgown, she’d stand before him totally exposed and talk to him as if she was fully dressed. In the way that he wanted to see her naked, she wanted him to see her naked. Wishing that I could be more like my mother without all of the guilt, shame, and remorse, my mother was such a whore.
Then, as if testing me and tempting me, as if I had wished it to happen and had been thinking about asking me, out of the clear blue, Mathew asked if he could wrestle me. Wrestle me? My son wanted to wrestle me. I don’t believe this.
“Mom, may I wrestle you?”
‘What? Seriously? Are you kidding me? Mathew wanted to wrestle me.’
Stunned, I couldn’t believe that my son wanted to wrestle me. Unable to wrap my head around him wrestling me, my son asked to wrestle me. Instead of thinking that was an unusual request, with us both such big wrestling fans, I thought it normal that he’d want to wrestle his mother in the way that I wanted to wrestle my son. No doubt, with him wrestling me gave him an excuse to touch and feel me everywhere while making his touches and feels appear accidental.
# # #
He had been watching online videos of mothers and stepmothers wrestling their adult sons and stepsons. He had been watching adult sisters and adult stepsisters wrestle their adult brothers and stepbrothers. He had been watching fathers wrestling their adult daughters and adult stepdaughters.
No doubt, a video that he had masturbated over, one video showed the father stripping his adult, stepdaughter naked and having consensual sex with her. Clearly, he didn’t want to wrestle me. He wanted to strip me naked and have sex with me.
Yet, I was sexually aroused while imagining my son wrestling me. I imagined him stripping me naked. I imagined him having sex with me. I imagined him sticking his stiff prick in my mother and forcing me to blow him. I imagined my son cumming in my mouth and all over my face.
A rite of passage, suddenly sexually excited at the thought of him wrestling me, no doubt, when wrestling me, he’d have an excuse to touch me, feel me, and explore my fully dressed body through my clothes. Unable to control myself, I was sexually aroused when thinking of my son groping me and, possibly, maybe even stripping me naked. Clearly, in the way that he was looking at me with lust, he had been thinking of wrestling me for some time.