Reality Road is Long and Hard

I didn’t want to know what was bothering me. It had been going on for so long, I thought that was just the way things were supposed to be. Why did she set me off? Why did she make me angry when she tried to be sweet to me? How could a son be so hateful to his mother?

I had trouble getting along with her even before my father had died when I was twelve. I even called her Mary for a while because I didn’t want to call her “Mom.” Everything changed after I woke up to what was going on in my own head. I was looking at a picture of a beautiful full-breasted woman on the Internet when I broke out in a sweat. She looked like my Mary, my mom, and I wanted her. I wanted to do everything imaginable to her - I wasn’t thinking about the woman in the picture. It was so obvious but I had never let myself think the thought. I wanted my mother. It didn’t feel horrible; it felt exciting. I got so turned on that as soon as I touched myself I had an explosive and exhausting orgasm.

Today I recognize that the difference between conscious and unconscious feelings is an illusion. I was still feeling the desire for her even if I wasn’t aware of it. It was affecting me physically and mentally but I just wasn’t ready to tell myself the words – “I want you mom.”

When I did focus my awareness on how I felt about my mother, the floodgates opened. I thought about her all the time and our relationship mellowed. She didn’t make me angry any more. She could kiss me and I didn’t recoil. In fact she couldn’t kiss enough to suit me.

Thoughts of her put me to sleep at night. Of course they were adolescent fantasies like many of the stories of incest I had begun reading on the net. She came to me in the middle of night and took me in her mouth; she gave me her body for my birthday, she saw me naked and couldn’t resist sleeping with me. I don’t think that stuff really happens much. Well, it didn’t happen to me.

It took months for mom and me to even get back to a conventional mother-son relationship. It was slow, painfully so. It took years before we got to an unconventional one.

I would say the genesis of anything beyond fantasy involved the Mother’s Day present I gave her when I was eighteen and she was thirty-seven. I agonized for a month considering what her reaction would be. I just couldn’t decide if I was doing the right thing or stupidly embarrassing myself. I had seen the outfit in a Victoria’s Secret kind of store. The model in the picture had dark hair and an ample body like mom. The bra, panties, and garter belt, were a combination of filmy white nylon and lace, to cover without covering. The stockings were white with sheer vertical lines going thigh to ankle. The dressing gown was opened but it wouldn’t have prevented you from seeing the undergarments even if it had been buttoned.

I often imagined how my mother would look in it; I was embarrassed in the store, but I had to buy it. When I gave it to her, my heart was pounding. Her eyes opened in surprise and she gave a little laugh. At least she didn’t hate it, or me for giving it to her. She said, “Oh honey it’s lovely. It must have cost you a fortune.”

“You’re worth it mom; do you really like it?” I said.

“Of course dear,” she said. She stopped for a moment and asked, “What made you get me such a sexy outfit?”

I fumbled, “I don’t know; I just saw it and thought you would look nice in it.”

She laughed a bit and said, “It’s a bit daring,” and then she added as an afterthought, “Too bad I don’t have anyone to wear it for right now; oh well, maybe someday.” She had only been out on a few sporadic dates and some of the relationships had turned to friendships but none had developed into romances.

Maybe you’re thinking that this is where I say, “We’ll, you can wear it for me mom.” That’s exactly what I thought, but I didn’t say it. What I did say was, “You’ll find someone mom, and they’ll be lucky to get you.”

She wasn’t used to that kind of remark coming from; I was almost surprised to hear it come out of my mouth. She didn’t say anything because it looked like she was a bit choked up. She kissed my cheek. She went and put the lingerie in her drawer.

I saw the sheer nylon on her in my fantasy that night, and then I saw her take off her bra and panties so the curves of her body were silhouetted in soft light. Her nipples were evidently large under the gauzy fabric; the darker patch between her legs invited me.

In my imaginings she’s shy and reluctant and I say to her, “I know you don’t think that I should touch you this way mom, but I love you.” I reach under the nylon to take her bare breast in my hand and she sighs, allowing me. And then I touch her in all the places, and then I love her in all the ways I had come to imagine, until I fall asleep, alone.

It was deep into summer and we had spent almost every day of mom’s two-week vacation together at the beach, the movies, and at the evening dances at the band shell that was just a few blocks from home. The heat had built up outside and inside of me. By then, I considered my desires as the unfulfillable, nonsensical ravings, of a hormonally charged lunatic.

Lying next to her on the beach didn’t help. Yes, I put lotion on her back and no, I didn’t rub it on the cleavage that drove me crazy, or the long legs that led to the pussy I wanted to be in. And nothing could keep me from fantasizing as I held her when we danced.

My hand rested as low as it could on the small of her back without actually being on her ass. I inhaled her hair when she rested her head on me during the slow numbers. And how unselfconscious she was when I moved, as her breasts tortured my chest. I tried not to let her feel the swelling in my pants as my thoughts ran away from me to the place where my mother is on the bed and her legs are open and she wants me…she needs me…she begs me…

That night, as I fantasized and stroked myself, I thought of actually going into her room and attempting to seduce her. The small rational part of me that remained, realized that I had no idea how to go about it, and no reason to think that my mother would be in any way receptive to it.

I became agitated thinking that nothing would ever happen and my thoughts turned ugly. I fantasized about forcing her. Even though it’s not in my nature and the idea in reality was abhorrent to me, it still turned me on. In the scene I conjured up, I tied her to the bed before she can stop me. As I begin touching her all over, she begs me not to do it. “Please Robert, please…you can’t do this to your own mother.”

I bring my cock to her lips and say, “Yes I can Mary, now suck it before I make you sorry.” Even in the fantasy I couldn’t bring myself to hurt her. She opens her mouth and sucks my cock. I lick her pussy and she likes it so much she says, “Oh Robby, untie me, it feels so good, I’ll do whatever you want.” After I came I thought I had been reading too many nonsensical incest stories because even my fantasies were hard to believe.

It was a few weeks later when the line between fantasy and reality became less clear. Nothing was certain after the night the lights went out. We had just come home from dancing. It wasn’t that unusual an event. Where we lived, during summer thunderstorms, the lights often went out. Usually within a couple of hours, they were back on. That evening it took longer. We sat on the rug watching the lightening illuminate the trees while we waited. Mom seemed a little nervous and made a drink. She made me one even though I hardly ever had more than a beer or two. She finished her second as we talked in the dark. The A/C was off and she opened enough buttons for me to see the creamy flesh that crested over her bra.

“What do you want out of life Robby? Tell me honestly…is there anything you’re willing to work for?”

I figured we were back to our old arguments of years past. Mom’s smart. She reads all the time. She understands music and art and literature. I was never much interested in school. I did enough to get by. She was always hounding me to study and learn. I refused to go to the museums and libraries with her no matter how much she begged or cajoled. It was only because we were getting along that I said I would consider going to college in the fall.

“Yes,” I said. I’m willing to work for it, but no matter how much I work, I’m not going to get what I want.”

“Of course you will.” She was getting excited. “All you have to do is apply yourself. I believe in you baby, I’ll help you. You’re going to love school and you’ll do great. Tell me what you want to do.”

I said it. “It’s not only what I want to do, it’s who I want to do it with...mom.” I put my hand on her arm and stroked down to her hand.

I said that my mother was smart. She saw the way I was looking at her unblinking eyes. I didn’t have the say the rest because she knew. “Oh honey…how do we even talk about this…look Robby…I know that you get excited sometimes with me when we’re dancing and I guess I didn’t do much to discourage you because…well, I’m probably flattered. You’re a handsome young man, you’re my son, and you still find me attractive; I’ll admit that it makes me feel some things I haven’t felt in a while. I wanted to talk to you about it, but I guess I was a little uncomfortable.” Even without the lights I could tell she was flushed and damp.

“But listen baby, these aren’t unusual feelings, we’ve been spending a lot of time together and it’s a time of confusion in a boy’s life…”

“Mom, I’m not confused.” I looked at her directly. “Right now all I want to do is kiss you. I’ve loved you this way for a long time…you’re so beautiful. Mom.” I leaned to her and my lips touched hers. She didn’t pull away.

After the short kiss she smiled and said, “Are you trying to take advantage of your drunk mother?” We both knew she was anything but drunk.

“Yes mom, I am.” The kiss was longer this time as my hand went to her neck and gently slid down until it rested over the mound I had fantasized touching for years. I could feel her deep inhale through her nose as her breast rose deeper into my hand.

After the kiss she said, “Baby, this can’t go where you want it to go, or even where I might want it to go. Tonight I’m feeling a little crazy, but there are just too many reasons why it can’t happen.”

“Mom, why does it matter? If we both want it and were both adults, who cares what other people say or think?”

“No baby, you’re not understanding. You’re right about that part of it; I don’t think it’s wrong because of what people think. If two people love each other, what happens between them is nobody’s business if no one gets hurt. But there’s more to it than that. They have to be right for each other.”

“Look mom if we both want to…you always tell me I’m handsome…God mom, I want you so much…I want you to be my first…”

“That’s part of the problem baby…you’re only thinking about sex, and it’s understandable, but at this time in my life, I need someone who wants me to be their last, not their first. Look, I know what you’re feeling…you want this…right now you think you want me. Well you would be wrong if you thought I don’t have desires as much as you do. You have to understand though, for me, sex isn’t enough. I need someone to be with before we have sex, and after we have sex. Someone to talk to, and share the things I love with, and…sweetheart, sleeping together isn’t going to make everything right for me.”

It hurt that I couldn’t be the man she wanted. Finally I said, “Mom, I only know that I want you so much and I would do anything… it’s driving me nuts…I’ll go to school…I’ll…”

She sort of laughed at my transparent attempt at ‘blackmail.’ “Honey, you’re going to have to do what’s best for you, and not because of something you think you want from me.”

“So you’re never going to let me love you?” I was crestfallen. “Could you just kiss me once…for real?”

She was kind and said, “Sweetheart, I don’t know what tomorrow brings, and maybe ‘never’ sometimes does come…” She looked at me wistfully and said, “Okay sweet boy, come kiss your momma.” I kissed her and she kissed me back, long, gently, and she allowed the hand that softly caressed over her bra. After a few minutes she pulled back and looked me squarely at me, focusing my attention. “Listen, this is once…tonight…it’s probably all my own fault, but I do want you to get over this thing about me…and don’t push it, okay?”

I wasn’t sure where it was going but I said, “Okay.”

She reached back and unhooked her bra. I was almost tongue-tied. She sat with a sweet smile, exposed, yet unashamed in front of her son. Her breasts had the heaviness that maturity brings, but still shapely enough for a twenty year old girl to be proud of. “God mom, they’re so…so beautiful.” I almost added something about how big they were but thought better of it. She laughed as I ogled them open-mouthed and then instinctively bent my head to suckle the thick rubbery nipple. I had always wondered why the points of her nipples were evident in most of the clothes she wore. I could then see that naturally, her nipple was thick even when not in a state of arousal. In my mouth it hardened even more.

My mother made a sound of pleasure as my tongue circled the large areola and then played with the tip. I sucked harder when she held her breast as if she was feeding it to me. I sucked until she brought my head back up so that we could resume kissing. She put her hand on my burgeoning cock and massaged. I took my mother’s tit in hand and mimicked her motions. Her flesh was hot. Touching her and kissing her made me want to be inside her as much as I’ve wanted anything in my life.

I went to unzip my pants and she stopped me. I tried to unhook her skirt and she stopped me. It wasn’t going to happen. What did happen did bring me some relief. My mother placed my hand under her skirt and let me touch her pussy. She directed my fingers to her hood and showed me with her fingers over mine how to stimulate the clit that swelled under it. She rubbed me; I rubbed her, and we kissed. I came first. I stayed on her mouth and my sounds of “Mmm…mmm…mmm…” got longer and louder until I had to stop the kiss as I squeezed my eyes shut and said, “Mom I’m coming…Ohhh…Ohhh…” I jerked with each release and fell on her neck in exhaustion.

A moment later I realized that my hand was still on her pussy and she had resumed directing my fingers. Her orgasm seemed even longer than mine and the sounds she made were like staccato whimpers of “Yes…yes…yes,” until she was done. She kissed me and smiled and put her bra back on. I started to say something when the lights came back on. The moment was over.

The next morning when I awoke, mom was in the kitchen preparing breakfast and went up behind her and put myself against her and she turned and said, “Robby, I was serious, that was once, and you said you wouldn’t push.” I nodded my head sheepishly in assent. “Okay,” she said, “Now give me a kiss and sit down to breakfast.”

We ate and talked about everything except what I wanted to talk about and then she said, “Robby, I know we’ve been through this but I want you to do something for me. Right now it’s the most important thing I can think of that I need from you. It’s hard for me baby because I’m upset but I’m not going to keep saying it. I decided that this is the last time I’m ever going to bring it up.”

I thought for sure it was going to be about what a mistake last night had been and how wrong, and on an on. What she said was, “I want you to go to school; I want that most of all. Will you do it baby? Will you do that for your momma?”

Two minutes before, after being rebuffed I would have said, “No,” But the look on her face and the sound of her voice wouldn’t let me refuse her. “Okay mom, I’ll go.”

“OH honey…” she brightened. “…and you’ll try?”

“Yes mom, I’ll try…I’ll be the best little student they have.”

She laughed and hugged me and gave me a sweet kiss on the lips. “Thank you honey; I love you.” She was beaming.

I went to school and I tried. To my surprise, I liked learning. I wasn’t bored like I was in high school. The teachers were exciting and challenging. The other students were a more diverse group than the people I knew at home, and they were friendly. And through it all, I was thinking about my mom.

We started e-mailing and I kept her up on what I doing. I called her “Sweet Girl” instead of ‘mom’ in my letters because I never knew who was looking over my shoulder while I was on the computer. She enjoyed it though and said she hadn’t been called ‘girl’ in a long time. I really wanted to call her “My love.”

I tried to keep it light and amusing and only told her once in awhile how much I missed her and how much I still wanted her. As the semester progressed, I told her that I now knew the difference between Phillip Roth and David Lee Roth and that in a film course I had seen that Jean Simmons didn’t have as long a tongue as Gene Simmons. She said I made her laugh. We wrote short notes back and forth all the time.

Anytime I wasn’t studying or hanging out, I was reading stories on the Net about mother’s and sons. Even though I knew that most of them were far fetched I was still turned on by them because I could identify and fantasize so easily. There were two stories by an author named Emmah that I read over and over because the son in the first story was named Robby and the mother in the second one was named Mary.

It wasn’t very graphic but this is the paragraph in the first story that got me going: “His first entry took my breath. His second took my heart. I felt I was giving him all my love and that could only feel good. He slid up into my tight channel and I became excited by the new sensations: the pressure, the heat, the trepidation and the anticipation of him coming in me there. I was transported and started to hear my moaning as if I was outside myself. Bobby's rhythm became steady and I joined, meeting his thrusts instinctively. I lost track of time as my head rolled and my arms began to shake. It seemed he slid in and out of me for a minute and an hour. He penetrated into me to the hilt. Nothing prepared me for the sensation of him touching the absolute depths of me. I gave myself up to it and to him. I heard myself scream as I came and I must have touched myself because I found one of my hands between my legs when the excruciating orgasm subsided. I was wet and dripping from his cum and we were entwined as he kissed me and told me "I love you" over and over and over again.”

And the second story called Things Take Time had a part where the mother lets her son have anal sex with her, and that I could really not believe, but it excited the hell out of me anyway. Here’s the part I read about ten times: “He shifted her to the edge of the bed and then with his feet on the floor he drove with his hips until half of his cock disappeared between the rounded globes. Another long moan from her was followed by the attempt to get it all in. He stroked back and forth and the constriction of her anal ring massaged the shaft. He drove the remaining inches into the hot passageway and she said, “Oh God…I’m on fire…oh…oh…” He was surprised that with each exclamation, she was pushing to meet his strokes. She grabbed his arms for balance and with each thrust he had complete penetration. She was taking it all in and he was climbing to the sky.

He took both of his mother’s breasts in his hands as he drove into her again and again. The tight passageway tried to hold him firm as he fought to keep moving inside her. The friction heated both of their sexes. Each time he completed a stroke, he stayed buried inside her, moving in her as though there were something in her he was searching for. Each time he did it she let out a moan that ended with a little cry. And when he said, ‘mother’ and stroked her, she said ‘yes’ louder and louder.” I thought that the chance of anything like that happening to me was somewhere between slim and none, but it didn’t keep me from thinking about it, wanting it, and letting it feed my fantasies.