Hamstrung Mom

Then I saw Karl, pouting.

Thinking, "What exactly did you do, dude?" I said, "I also need to thank my boyfriend Karl."

* * * * *

Karl was not happy when I insisted Ryan and the posse join us for a celebratory lunch. He was even less so when I told him I was not going back to his place even though this "weight-lifting thing" (his words) was over , but was going home to ice my leg. Sulking, he receded from the conversation, drank. Cheryl, the police officer, finally told him she'd drive him home. Karl didn't like that, but you don't say no to Cheryl.

* * * * *

Ryan and I spent the evening watching Game of Thrones, my leg propped up on his lap, ice pack on it every few hours. And although it was still relatively early, I yawned.

"Ready to crash?"

"Yeah, sorry to be a party pooper."

"It's been a big day and that's a potent muscle relaxer. Why don't you go get ready for bed, I'll pick up down here, then work on your leg."

I hugged him and said, "I love you so much son, I couldn't have done this without you. Thank you."

* * * * *

He was working the top of my leg, the base of my butt. The muscle relaxer having taken the edge off my anxiety, I was absorbing his touch, luxuriating in the sensation.

"How ya' doin'?"

I said, "Wonderfully," heard the sexual undertone to my voice.

He moved further up my butt, drove his thumbs into its sides. The walls of my pussy spasmed, a moan escaped my lips.

He did it again; I purred more than said, "Aaaahhhhhh."

He worked my backside, small low moans leaked out of me. I knew I should ask him to stop, but it felt so good, and Dr. Brown said it was good for me, and his hands were heaven, and he was almost done and when he was I could masturbate.

But when he finished he moved to the foot of the bed, said, "Mom, I'd like to do your leg again," and massaged my feet, all ten toes, then my calves. There was a fragrant gumbo simmering between my legs. Then he started on my thighs, someone added Tabasco to the stew; he moved higher, cayenne pepper and file were introduced to the mix.

"Mom, roll over."

Draping my arm over my chest to obscure my erect nipples, I did. He moved between my legs, massaged my quadriceps. My pussy was quivering, the gumbo ready to eat.

His fingers reached the top of my leg, passed over my sex, landed just above my pubic bone, massaged the muscles there. My clit, wet and throbbing, swirled in its hood. Juice dripped from me.

I wanted those fingers between my legs.

I should say: "Sorry son, we need to end the massage."

And if he asked me why, I would just tell him the truth: "There's nothing wrong dear, in fact it's wonderful, beyond wonderful. That's the problem. You turn me on, your hands turn me on. Your Mom's a pervert, her son makes her hot."

This reverie was interrupted by a voice, insistent, but calm and imperturbable, as if no objection was conceivable. He said, "Mom, focus on how you feel," then covered my bikini bottoms with the palm of his hand, moved the hand in a circle.

Euphoria spread through me like high tide and my, "Uuunnnhhhhhhhhh," making clear how aroused I was.

Ryan slipped his thumb and index finger inside my bikini to caress my aching pussy lips; the sentence of protest that had formed in my mind dissolved. Instead what I said was a sentence that was born between my legs and sent directly to my mouth, bypassing my brain: "Uuunnhhh, feels so good, honey, feels so good."

He covered my clit, rubbed in a circular motion, increased the pressure, cradled it between thumb and index finger, palpitated the blood thickened flesh. Pleasure rolled up and down its short length, I let out a long moan.

He kept at it; my clit and pussy merged. I was wallowing in a pleasure and joy which grew and became more intense until I no longer wallow in it, but instead needed it and craved it, and it continued growing, and soon the pressure became overwhelming, threatening to tear me apart, until there was an explosion and the volcano inside me went off and the orgasm burned through me, growing and deepening until it was a great canyon that surrounded and protected me.

And through it all my son worked my sex, intensifying and prolonging my orgasm, then bringing me down in tiny steps until I was inert and content. He kissed him, his tongue - wet and strong and sweet - was in my mouth and his erection was on my leg, and I imagined our bodies joined together. I started to reach for it, but was so tired and I needed a second, just a second. I closed my eyes.

* * * * *

There was this weird buzzing sound. My son's phone, set on vibrate, was on the table by my alarm clock. It was 11:00 A.M. I slid to the edge of the bed, stood, stretched; a light-hearted joy permeated my body. Those orgasms had been no dream. Putting on a robe I slipped my son's phone in the pocket.

Ryan was in the kitchen, tending a large pot. I said,"It smells great," but knew I had to say more, didn't know how to say it, so I just blurted it out.

"Last night was wonderful, it really was, but I'm sorry, I went too far."

Ryan said, "I'm not sure about that 'too far' thing, but if anyone did it was me, you just lay there. Your body is so strong and responsive, the way your muscles move, the way you react to my touch."

Memories of last night flooding my mind, I wanted to shed my robe, kiss his mouth. I had to get my shit together. I changed the subject, reached into my pocket, handed him the phone, and said, "You left this upstairs. You got a call. It's what woke me up."

"Sorry. I brought it to the room last night, put it on vibrate. This morning I wasn't sure where it was. I didn't want to turn the light on, that would have woken you up, but it woke you up anyway."

"I slept to 11:00, I think it was time to get up."

He checked his phone and said, "Doctor Brown called, she must be wondering how you're doing."

Recalling my promise, I said, "Before you call her I'm supposed to tell you she's going to offer you a job."

"C'mon Mom, Proteus doesn't hire people straight out of school."

"I told her you said that, she said they were making an exception, she's been impressed by your work on me."

Big smile on his face, he said, "Really, that's amazing."

I said, "Ryan, I just thought, maybe she wanted to make the offer, then have me urge you to accept it. Do me a favor, act surprised."

My son punched in the number, answered several questions about me, made an appointment for me to go in, then I heard surprise in his voice as he sputtered out a thank you, said of course he'd talk to me about it. She'd offered him the job.

* * * * *

We ate the turkey chili he'd made, cleaned up, then Ryan asked me to join him on the chair-swing on the back porch. It was our favorite place to talk.

I said, "Do you mind if I go first?"

He said, "No," put an arm around me. I snuggled up to him and said, "I'm not going to deny it, last night was spectacular, but it's not what we're supposed to be doing."

He paused, gave me the opportunity to say more, and when I didn't said, "Mom, it didn't start last night, it's been going on for weeks. When I've worked your hamstring and glutes you've been getting turned on, so have I."

I stumbled though my answer as my initial surprise that he knew gave way to the realization that my belief he hadn't was delusional, "I guess I thought I kept it hidden. Yeah, it's been a real guilty pleasure. Your touch is wonderful, but we've got to stop."

"Why guilty, why stop?"

Surprised by his question and forthright manner I said, "I'm your mother. We just do,"

then watched his brow wrinkle, marshaling ed the arguments why it was okay, but then he stopped, nodded, and said, "Mom, of course I'll respect your wishes, but I believe you and I should be together, that we're right for each other."

His voice was calm and intelligent, his desire unmistakable. I wanted to believe him.

But that was insane.

I hugged him, liking the way he smelled, a bit like the chili he'd just made, kissed his cheek, and said, "I love you son, but that can never be."

I braced myself for a whine or a pout - it's what my men do - but didn't get it. Although Ryan must have detected my ambivalence, he accepted my decision. He wasn't like Karl, or any man I'd known.

* * * * *

Later that evening Karl rolled off of me. I'd faked my orgasm, a half-hearted effort. I felt dirty, it felt dirty, like I was cheating on my son.

"Great for me baby, how 'bout you?"

"It was nice Karl."

"Damn I'm good. I was wondering, with Ryan getting that job, when will he be moving out?"

What? I didn't want Ryan moving out.

"We haven't talked about it. Why do you ask?"

"Well with him gone, you could move in with me, help me take care of my place. Now that you won that championship, a friend of mine has an opening for an office administrator, I could recommend you. I'm sure it's better money than you make at the gym."

I'd been an office administrator; I didn't want to be an office administrator; Karl knew that.

"I like working at the club, we've talked about it, I'd like to own one some day."

"C'mon honey, isn't it time for a grown-up job."

* * * * *

Karl snored and I stared at the ceiling fan as it slowly rotated. Ryan was sweeter, kinder, more supportive, more caring than any man I'd ever known. He'd never dismiss my dream. I looked at Karl, thought again of what my shrink had told me, of my instinct for pretty men who talked pretty, but stopped with talk.

* * * * *

It was Margarita Thursday and I was telling the posse about Ryan's new job.

Sandra, the sweetest, said, "Really, Proteus? That's wonderful, he's such a great kid, he deserves something like that."

Jo Anne, a bit more practical said, "I've heard they pay top dollar, he'll be bringing home some bucks."

Cheryl, as always, out there, said, "Yeah, good looking, nice as he can be, pulling down the dough and, I suspect, packing talented hands, the women will be gobbling him up. If he wasn't family I'd gobble him up myself."

I said, "Cheryl!"

* * * * *

Dr. Brown, frown on her face, ran her hand up the back of my leg and said, "Hmmmm, you were making a rapid recovery but now you've stalled. Has Ryan been massaging your leg?"

"No Doctor, I mean Melissa, I asked him to stop."

"Why?"

Why? Because when he touches me I want him in a way no mother should want her son. Because if he does it again I don't think I'd be able to say no, and then I don't think I'd ever be able to say no again.

"I figured I didn't need it anymore."

"What did he say?"

"He said I do, but he's respected my wishes."

"Well, he's right to do that, but you need those massages, you don't want to take any more time away from the gym than necessary. You should listen to your son, he has your best interests at heart."

" I know that Melissa" - time to change the subject - "How's he's working out so far?"

"Well, its only been a few days, but he's the definition of bright eyed and bushy tailed, eager to learn, and, as I feared, the women are lining up."

Accompanied by a stab of something (was it jealously?) I said, "And how is he reacting?"

"Polite and professional, not hurting anyone's feelings, not leading anyone on. I was a bit worried about it - wounded women, inappropriate behavior - but I couldn't ask for more from him. I think there is someone out there, someone his heart already belongs too, and the women sense it."

* * * * *

When Karl called I said I wasn't feeling well. Instead Ryan and I made dinner - mustard baked salmon and grilled asparagus - and ate in the living room in front of the television. When done I laid aside my plate and said, "I saw Dr. Brown today, she scolded me, told me I should let you massage my leg."

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her you said the same thing. So why are you hanging out with your mother on a Friday night?"

"I like my mother."

"Would you do my leg?"

He studied my face, then said, "Of course, why don't you grab a shower first, get comfortable. I'll clean up down here, then join you."

* * * * *

I got out of the shower, blew-dried my thick shoulder-length black hair, it always took awhile, dabbed some perfume, a fragrance Ryan liked, behind an ear, picked up my tiny bikini, asked myself, did I have the courage for this?

I lay the bikini aside, sent Ryan a text letting him know I was ready, got on the bed, covered myself with a towel.

Smelling fresh and clean and wearing a tank top and gym shorts, I admired Ryan's body as he entered my bedroom, then said, "Ryan you've become a beautiful young man. I can see why the women at Proteus are lining up."

Ryan ran his hand up my leg and said, "I see Dr. Brown has been gossiping. Why aren't you out with Karl, it's usually a date night."

"I don't think Karl is right for me."

He said nothing.

I said, "You weren't much of fan, were you?"

"He's not a bad guy Mom, but I don't know, he talked a good game, but it was always about him."

"Yeah, but don't be too hard on him, there's plenty of guys like that."

Working my thigh he said, "Yead, the dude is okay. I just thought you deserved better."

He was not yet high enough so I'd feel the effect rippling through my sex, but it didn't matter, I was already wet.

He moved up until my vaginal lips slid on each other. Making no effort to hide the sexual lilt in my voice I said, "That feels nice."

He reached the top of my thighs, removed the towel, saw my naked form, paused, just a beat, then worked the muscles at the base of my butt.

"I was nervous about being naked for you, but the bikini didn't cover much anyway."

Rotating my butt cheeks against each other he said "No problem. I hope you know you can trust me with your body."

My sex swollen, I said, "I do."

He kept going, massaged my lower back, my spine, my upper back, shoulders, and neck, then said, "It's time to roll over." When I did I saw the appreciation in his eyes.

And now that he'd seen all of me, I wanted to see all of him.

"Ryan, would you take your clothes off?"

He did, and while I pretended to be interested in other things, there was one thing I wanted to see. When he pulled off his shorts it sprang free. It was a man's instrument, potent and powerful, long and curved and thick, the shaft an almost too pretty pink, the head a dark pinker, near brown, and even on his sizable tool the cock-head seemed overlarge.

"It's beautiful son."

He said, "Y'know how we guys are, I was hoping you'd like it," and lay next to me. I curled my body into his and, my mind awhirl, drew figures on his chest with a fingertip, moving down until I was there. I wrapped my hand around it, felt its warmth, and said, "Do you think this is all a bit strange?"

"Mother and son, in bed together, yeah, a bit strange. Y'know, when I first began thinking of you this way, wanting you this way, I told myself I shouldn't, bit the thoughts came back. When they did I studied them, turned them upside down and inside out. I couldn't find anything wrong with them, then banished them again. But they always came back.

"I thought it was all hopeless, but when I started massaging your leg and saw the way you responded, realized you might want me the same way I want you.

"Yeah, a bit strange, but that doesn't make it wrong."

Frigging his dick, I knew this was my last chance to say no. If I didn't walk away now, I never would. He was my son, but he was also an adult, capable and sober, in many ways more mature than I. I wasn't a predator and he not a naif. We loved each other, respected each other, cared for each other.

I leaned into him, said, "I love you son," and we kissed, our tongues danced, played, dueled. With a little half push-up he moved atop me, kissed my mouth, my neck, shoulders, collarbone, then looked down my body to the swell of my small breasts, the curve of my hips, my rippled stomach, the place between my legs, and in a tone reverent, as if speaking of a work of art or a magical sunset, said, "You are so beautiful."

He moved down my body, took a long whiff of my sex, said, "Sweet and delicate, strong and so very feminine," then put his middle finger in his mouth, wet it, probed the face of my sex, spread my juice, opened me with two fingers, and said, "Your pussy lips are so beautiful, fat and pink, they glow."

"Eat me son."

He dipped his head between my thighs, nibbled, tongued the crease between leg and pussy; kissed my sex from clit to the bottom of my slit with little butterfly kisses. He licked every fold, every crevice, every curve; my pussy was slick and glossy with saliva and cunt juice, the scent of our arousal filled the room. I slid my fingers into his hair and bucked my hips; his tongue parted my pussy lips, speared inside.

"Oh yeah, baby, just like that. Kiss me, just like that. Eat me baby, eat my pussy."

Consumed by incestual lust, my sex became a fault line, the place where continents grind into each other, building a tension so powerful and profound that I knew when it was released the shockwaves would shatter, then re-construct my world, a world where my son would be my lover, the man I'd given up any hope of finding.

Ryan flicked my clit, tall and red and shiny, with the tip of his tongue, light fast insistent, then sucked it into his mouth, rolled it between his lips.

"Oh Ryan, oh yes."

As he did the continents kept grinding and the pressure kept building, the tension in my gut growing until I was afraid it would tear me apart, that it until, in a single instant, without warning, it all gave way. I screamed his name, I came with an unearthly blinding power. My vagina and I were in free fall and when we hit bottom I came again, and hit bottom again and came again and then again and again. I felt numb, I felt alive, my heart pounded, my legs shook, and I laughed and I smiled and I was weirdly happily proud.

And through it all I heard my voice: "Don't stop baby. Don't stop, don't stop eating me, just like that, don't stop, never stop, never ever stop."

When it was over I looked at him. My juice was on his chin and cheeks and mouth and lips, a smile was in his eyes, and I said, "I love you," and he said, "I love you too," and he straddled me and took a nipple between his lips. His mouth was sweet and tender, like when he was a baby and he'd feed on my milk-bloated teats and I'd get excited and touch my pussy.

I reached for his dick, placed it on my vagina, and said, "Fuck me. There's no reason to worry, I'm on the pill." He moved inside me and when he was all the way inside me he fucked me, at first with little movements, testing and exploring, noting how I responded, but soon, very soon, he was fucking me deep and hard, thrusts that rattled my bones, and I said, "Ohhhhh Ryan. Ohhhhhh, so good," and rammed my hips into him, and we fucked and I loved him so much.

He said, "Oh Mom, I've wanted this for so long," and I spread my legs, opening myself to him, and said, "Yes, that's what I want. Fuck me, fuck me, good, hard, forever."

He took hold of my arms, pinned them to the mattress, shoved his dick inside me, rolled his body forward, crushed my clit with his pubic bone, did it again, again.

I was proud of my body, the way my muscles absorbed the frenzied libidinous incestual assault of a lover half my age, and drove back into him, giving as good as I got.

We fucked and we fucked and we fucked; his cock was hard and long and fat. His boiling balls slapped against my backside.

He fucked me with months, years, of pent-up desire. Fucked me like fucking me was the most important thing in his universe. Fucked me with a desire so powerful that he'd discarded society's most sacred taboo to do so.

There was one woman in the world he wanted, me, his mother, and that's how he fucked me and that's how I wanted to be fucked.