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No doubt with him still young and so full of himself, she gave him an understanding smile that a mother routinely gives her son.
"You only say that because you haven't lived enough of life yet. But if you could stay one age, what age would that be?"
He looked at her pensively.
"I like being 24-years-old. I'd stay this age," he said. "I'm old enough to know better and yet young enough to still do wild and crazy things," he said with a laugh while imagining have sex with his mother as being one of the wild and crazy things that he'd love to do. Taking the bait, he asked her the question. "What about you? What age would you stay, if you could?"
She answered him without even having to ponder the thought.
"If I could stay the same age, I'd stay 35-years-old. That was a good age for me. I looked my best at that age. I looked twenty-something instead of thirty-something."
He looked at her with love, lust, and sexual desire. He looked at her as if she was crazy for even mentioning that he'd ever forget her birthday. He looked at her as if she was nuts to think she was old. She'd never be old to him.
"You look wonderful now, Mom. You don't look your age. No one would ever think you're 47-years-old," he said.
With him having never seen her naked and not having anything to compare, he couldn't help but wonder how differently she looked naked at 35-years-old than how she looks naked now. He wondered if she had any photos of herself topless and/or naked when she was younger. He wondered if she had any photos of herself topless and/or naked of how she looked now. Something that he'd cherish while masturbating over them, he'd love to have topless and/or naked photos of his mother. What son wouldn't like to have topless and/or naked photos to lust over while masturbating?
"Thank you," she said giving him a thoughtful look. "So, what did you get me for my birthday?"
She looked at him with curiosity.
"I made something for you," he said.
She looked at him as if she already knew what he made her.
"Did you paint me another picture for my birthday? I love your paintings. You're so very talented," she said. "Is that why there's a blanket hanging from my bedroom wall?" She laughed. "Or is my birthday gift a blanket?" She laughed again.
Not laughing at her little joke, he looked at her with panic. Did she look? Did she already see his surprise? Did she already peek what's there beneath the blanket?
"You didn't look under the blanket did you? I asked you not to look when you came home last night from Emma's house," said Joey having warned his mother not to peek beneath the blanket when she came home late from visiting his sister. "What's underneath the blanket is your birthday surprise."
By the look she gave him, he figured that she thought he painted her another painting. In a way, he did paint her another painting. Only, this time, he painted her a wall mural.
"No, I didn't peek. I didn't want to spoil my birthday surprise," she said giving him a smile. "Being that it's now officially my birthday, may I see your gift?"
A pretty woman whether she was smiling or not, she was so very much prettier when she warmed him with her beautiful smile. Satisfied with the hug he gave his mother and with the hug she gave him in return, he gave her a big, birthday kiss on the lips too. Wishing he could prolong the kiss without her suspecting that he was sexually attracted to her and/or trying to seduce her, which he'd love to do, he loved kissing his mother.
Loving the smell of her of Jean Nate bath splash mixed with soap, shampoo, sometimes her perfumes, and the taste of her lipstick, he only wished he had the courage to slip her his tongue. With him only imagining and sexually fantasizing what it would be like, he'd love nothing more than to French kiss his mother. He only wished he had the courage to feel her beautiful body through her nightgown while holding her, hugging her, and French kissing her.
If only she was any other woman other than his mother, he would have French kissed her by now while feeling her beautiful body through her clothes. He'd love nothing more than to feel her panty clad ass through her nightgown before reaching up to feel her nearly naked nightgown clad breasts and while fingering her erect nipples. If only she was his girlfriend, his lover, and/or his wife instead of his mother, he'd be so happy. If only she was any other woman other than his mother, he would have had sex with her by now.
Even if only for her birthday, he'd love nothing more than to really kiss his mother, French kiss his mother. Only, even on her birthday, what kind of son French kisses his mother and what kind of mother French kisses her son. Something he's only experienced in his sexual fantasies while having his incestuous dreams of seeing his mother naked and having sex with her naked body, the remote chance of them exchanging French kisses were slim to nil. Even if he slipped her his tongue, she'd never reciprocate by slipping him her tongue. No doubt, she'd recoil, turn her head in revolution, and push him away in disgust.
The closest he ever came to having his wicked sexual way with his mother was when she returned home after attending a bachelorette party at a clothed female, nude male, CFNM club. A month after her 45th birthday, she came home drunk and horny that night. About to go into his junior year at college, he was home for the summer. With her holding him, hugging him, and kissing him, he felt more of his mother's ass and breasts than he ever did before.
Wishing they were alone, he so wanted to strip her down to her bra and panty or naked even and put her to bed but her best friend did that for her before leaving. He masturbated for the next two years over kissing his mother while feeling her ass and breasts. The next morning with her hungover and seemingly not remembering what had happened between the two of them, she never said anything about it and he didn't either. No doubt she was just as embarrassed as he was sexually excited.
* * * * *
Today was her forty-seventh birthday. He couldn't believe his mother was 47-years-old. With her much closer to fifty than she was to forty, she didn't look her age. Whenever he thought of a 47-year-old woman, he thought of his mother's friends, all of whom smoked, drank, burned the candle at both ends, and looked their age. All of them had children, full-time jobs outside the house, and stress from demanding husbands. None of them, not one of them, looked as good as his mother. No doubt lusted over by all of her friends' husbands, she was a rose in a field of weeds.
To look at his mother without knowing how old she was, no one would ever believe that she has a 27-year-old daughter and a 24-year-old son. She more looked 37-years-old than she looked 47-years-old. With him looking older, looking more 34-years-old than he looked 24-years-old, in theory, they appeared to be nearly the same age. Married young and divorced five years later, Joe's secret, love affair with his mother lasted much longer than his father's married, love affair lasted with his ex-wife.
Only seemingly, as far as he knew, his mother had no idea that he loved her in that forbidden and incestuously sexual way of a man loving a woman instead of a loving son loving his loving mother. Always trying to entice and seduce her by sexually teasing her, he somehow knew that his mother wasn't as perversely perverted and sexually attracted to him in the way that he was perversely perverted and sexually attracted to her. Tickling her while hugging her in his desperate attempts to deliberately touch some inappropriate part of her body that he was forbidden to touch by making his feels seem accidental, his frantic gropes gave him even more masturbation fodder.
Sexually frustrating that she'd never reciprocate the sexual feelings he had for her, he had to be satisfied with his sexual attraction to his mother by masturbating himself while imagining her naked and having sex with her. Seemingly, he was always masturbating while imagining his mother topless, naked, and/or having sex with her. Just once, he'd love to see her topless and/or naked. Just once, he'd love to have sex with his mother.
His longtime sexual fantasy come true, he'd give anything to see his mother topless and/or naked. Even if just by accident, he'd love to see her naked breasts, her naked ass, and/or her naked pussy. Something that he dreams about every night and masturbates over every day, he'd give anything to have sex with his mother's topless and/or naked body. Only, with his mother so morally modest, the only time he sees any sexual part of her is when she wears her sexy nightgowns early in the morning and late at night.
He wished he had the courage to grope her and to feel more of her spectacular body when she's wearing her sexy nightgowns. When she's standing at the kitchen sink, he'd love to come up behind her and surprise her with a kiss to the back of her neck. He'd love to plant his jean covered, erect cock between her ass crack through her skirt and panties while reaching around her to feel her breasts, cup her tits in the palm of his hands, and finger her nipples through her blouse and bra. Whenever he playfully tickles her, even if only for an instant, he always tries to touch her, feel her, and fondle her where no son should ever touch, feel, and fondle his mother.
Whenever she playfully tickles him, even if only for an instant, her hand always brushes by his erect cock. He always wondered if that was her desperate attempt at touching and feeling him where no mother should touch and feel her son or if her touch was accidental. Imagining that she deliberately brushed her hand by his cock, with her making him so horny, he always wanted to take her hand, put it on his erection, and hold it there. Whenever she brushed her hand by his cock in that way, he always wanted to remove his cock from his pajamas or jeans and put it in her hand before sticking it in her mouth and before burying it in her pussy.
Only, he didn't dare prolong his errant touches to turn them into feels in that sexually inappropriate way of a son forbidden to incestuously fondle his mother's body. Not wanting his mother to think that he's perversely perverted in his incestuous, sexual attraction to her, even though he is perversely perverted in his incestuous, sexual attraction to her, he can't help himself. It already takes all of the sexual control that he possesses not to slip her his tongue while kissing her, to reach down to feel her ass, and to reach up to feel her breasts through her nightgown when holding her. No doubt, in the way he looks at her, lusts over her, and ogles her, she already knows that he's sexually attracted to her. If only by the telltale sign of his constant erections when holding, hugging, and kissing her, how could she not know that he wants her in a sexual way?
He'd give anything for his mother to touch him and to feel him where no mother should ever touch and feel her son. He'd love nothing more than to feel her hand on his cock, even if only through his pants or his pajamas. Only, she'd never touch him in that sexually incestuous, inappropriate way. He'd love nothing more than for his mother to wrap her fingers around his naked prick and stroke him before sucking him. Only, forget about her stroking him and sucking him, she'd never take his cock in her hand in the same way that she'd never allow him to feel her naked breasts and/or naked ass.
With all women paling in comparison to her, blaming his disinterest in other women on his mother, it's because of his mother that he doesn't have a steady woman in his life. It's because of his mother that he's alone with his twisted, sexual thoughts and incestuous desires for her. It's because of his mother that he masturbates himself multiples times a day over the thoughts of her naked and her having sex with him. Unable to find someone who looks like her, walks like her, talks like her, and acts like her, certainly it would be weirdly telling if he did find a woman who was the clone of his mother. He could just see his mother's friends staring at him with incestuous insight. He could just hear his sister, Emma, berating him for his obvious attraction to their mother.
"Joey! What in the Hell is wrong with you? Are you nuts? What are you in love with Mom? Why would you find a woman who looks like her, walks like her, talks like her, and acts like her? Your new girlfriend is a virtual clone of Mom. Gees, Joey, cut the apron strings, get a life, and find a normal woman to be your girlfriend."
* * * * *
"Tell me," she said swooning while holding her son in her arms.
When she held him in her arms and hugged him in the way she was hugging him now, he didn't think of her as his mother. He imagined him hugging her if he was her boyfriend and she was his girlfriend. He imagined holding as if he was her husband and she was his wife. He imagined kissing her as if they were lovers instead of mother and son.
Without being inappropriately obscene, in the way of a dog humping her leg, he wished he could hump her. He wished he could see her naked. He wished he could strip off her nightgown and have wild and crazy sex with her. Wanting to give her a real happy, fucking birthday, the best birthday she's ever had, he wished he could make love to her before fucking her. He wished he could make her cum.
If ever he was fortunate enough to have sex with her, imagining himself being sexually intimate with his mother, taking it slow in the beginning, real slow, he'd be so gentle, so loving, and so kind. Kissing and kissing her, he'd feel every naked part of her beautiful body. Kissing and kissing her, he'd spend quality time feeling and fondling her big tits while sucking her erect nipples. Kissing and kissing her, he'd love nothing more than to rub her clit, while fingering and licking her pussy. Then, after making sweet love to her, he'd fuck her, really fuck her long and hard for her to cum.
As if she was symbolically his Nun, Mother Betty instead of Mother Teresa, his personal religious symbol, he'd pound her motherly pussy until she screamed her orgasm. He'd pound her pussy until she screamed his name instead of God's name to let him know that she sexually wanted him as much as he sexually wanted her. He'd pound her pussy until she had her orgasm to let him know that he was able to sexually satisfy her.
'Oh, Joey! Joey! Joey,' he imagined his mother screaming his name. "Joey! Joey! Joey! I'm going to cum. Don't stop licking me. Don't stop fucking me. I'm going to cum," he imagined her begging him not to stop.
Alas, somethings never change and somethings always remain the same. Just as she'll always be his mother and he'll always be her son, they'll always be a wall between them that can never be broken or climbed. Just as they'll never be husband and wife and/or boyfriend and girlfriend, they'll never be lovers. Something that will never happen and that will only happen in his sexual fantasies when he's masturbating himself, nonetheless his reality check, his pulse raced to the thoughts of seeing his mother naked before having sex with his mother.
Truly, were it not for her ingrained, puritanical, societal conformities, he'd be having sex with his mother by now. Certainly, something so good shouldn't be so forbidden. Certainly, something so right shouldn't be so wrong. With his mother parading around him in her skimpy, sexy, sheer nightgown, and certainly asking for it, his lust shouldn't be denied. He should be allowed the honor and the privilege to have his wicked sexual way with her naked body. After he licks her, after he makes love to her, and after he fucks her, she should be allowed to suck him and fuck him without shame, without guilt, and without remorse.
Wishing he could bend her over the couch, lift up her short nightgown, pull down her bikini panties, and fuck her while holding on to her big tits, he felt his cock hardening while rubbing himself up against her soft belly. In the way he felt the impressions of her hard nipples rubbing against his chest, he wondered if his mother felt his cock pressed against her toned, flat stomach whenever he was physically and emotionally showing his sexual passion for her. Just as he could feel her nipples impaling his chest, how could she not feel his cock impaling her belly?
Daring himself to touch them, finger them, pull them, turn them, and twist them, he could feel his mother's nipples impaling his chest in the way his semi-erect cock was impaling her toned, yet soft stomach. He wondered if she wanted to touch and stroke his cock as much as he wanted to feel her tits and finger her nipples. He wished he had the nerve to touch her and to feel her in the way he wished his mother would touch him and feel him. If only she was any other woman, he would have had sex with her by now.
"Tell you what, Mother?" With him lost in the sexual fantasy of his mother naked and having sex with her naked body, he remembered that she had asked him a question. He looked at her with curiosity while staring in her big, brown eyes. "What is it you want me to tell you?"
She gave him a loving smile that made him want to kiss her, French kiss her while feeling her through her nightgown.
"Why will you never forget my birthday?"
She asked him the question as if she didn't know why he'd never forget the birthday of the woman most important to him in his life. Obviously, she was playing with him and toying with his feelings of love and lust. She asked her question so esoterically while looking up at him with innocence filling her big, beautiful, brown eyes while acting so coy and so virginally innocent.
"How could I ever forget your birthday?"
Not allowing her question to drop, a sexy game she seemingly enjoyed playing, she persevered in him answering her question.
"Is it because you love me?"
Is it because he loved her? Other than for validation and reassurance, why would she even ask him such an obvious question that had such a telling answer? She knows he loves her. Yet, if only she knew how much he loved her, wouldn't she be surprised.
He wondered if she loved him as much as he loved her. If only she knew how much he loved her, she'd never have to wonder and/or ask the question again. Only, no doubt wanting him to stroke her ego, he sensed that she was teasing him. Truth be told, just as she'd love for her to stroke more than his ego, he'd love to stroke more than her ego too.
When she asked him if he loved her, she jolted him from his sexual fantasy of imagining her naked, of wanting to have sex with her, and of wanting to make love to her before fucking her hard enough to give her an orgasm. He suspected that she wasn't asking him if he loved her in the way that a son loves his mother. He suspected that she was asking him if he loved her in the way that a man loves a woman. Of course, he loved his mother. If only she knew how much he loved her, wouldn't she be shocked. Truth be told, he loved her enough to start a whole new life with her, to run away with her, and to marry her.
Yet, with him suspecting that she already knows that he loves her, albeit in a sexually forbidden and incestuous way, he wondered if she was teasing him about how much he forbiddingly loved her now. Of all the people he loved, he loved his mother, only he was forbidden to love her in that sexual way and in the way he wished he could love her. Of all the people he wanted to have sex with, his mother was number one on his short list of lovers.
* * * * *
Lost in her eyes, it took all of the self-control he possessed not to reach his hand down and feel his mother's shapely, round ass through her short, sexy nightgown and white, bikini panties while hugging her. It took all of the self-control he possessed not to reach in front of her to feel her firm, C cup breasts and finger her erect nipples through her satin nightgown. It took all the self-control he had not to kiss her, really kiss her, French kiss her in the way that he wanted to give her a real birthday kiss and to show her just how much he loved her, really loved her. It took all the self-control he had not to lift the back of her nightgown and pull down her panties and plant his cock between her legs.
