Let me get one thing straight, I never actually thought it would work!
When mother touched my upper arm and our eyes met, I just knew. Maybe it was that look, wide anxious eyes that made me wonder if I had ever noticed her green pupils before. But it was more than her eyes, it was the whole of her face, a breath away from my own, intimate and awkward at the same time.
As if that was not evidence enough, a quick look down I could see that mother had opened her work blouse, more buttons than I had ever seen undone — the freckled white skin, the pale suggestion of those twin globes.
She was smiling when I looked back, a gentle smile while her eyes seemed to dance almost pleased.
Her face came toward mine, her eyes closing slowly, her red lips parting.
I jumped out of my chair, she jerked back in surprise, the moment gone. I mumbled something about waiting for a call before rushing up to my room, my heart pounding, fear mixed with an excitement that I had never experienced in my 15 years.
Closing the door to my room I stand with my back to the crazed encounter that I had manufactured, never realizing for a second that it might actually work.
Let me admit to you my biggest secret — I have lusted after my mother since I can remember, certainly before puberty turned my fantasies into sordid events. Of course I know this makes me some kind of warped pervert — I could never reveal my desires to anyone, especially my own mother. It's strange living with a parent who you lust after — close in proximity but knowing what I wanted could never be.
Now, at 15 years-old, I am still a stupid teenager. Yea a virgin, though I dated, I had never gotten past second base. I sneak around our home, peeking at mother and sniffing her dirty underwear like the pervert you now know me for. I fantasied about her, sometimes feeling guilty for the lengths my imagination went, but more times than not, it left me breathless and wondering what it would really be like.
So I surfed incest porn on the Internet — forums and those fake mother-son photos you get from Russia. I anonymously spoke to a few people, mostly guys like myself lusting after their own mother. I even emailed one guy who laid claim that he and his mother had frequent sex, emailing me half a dozen photos to prove it.
No, it was one email that I nearly deleted that brought this all about. It read as spam, you know, 10 minutes a day will double the length of your dick or something. But after reading the email I never deleted it — in fact I came back to it every day for nearly two weeks before I responded. He claimed to have used it himself, that it came from the recipe of a potion as far back as ancient Egypt and that it never failed, it was 100% fool proof.
What did it do?
As you can guess, I had to administer it to my own mother — the claim was, it could only affect your biological mother and no other. The package came some weeks later, sealed with perhaps a tablespoon of what looked like brown powder. It didn't let me control her mind or turn her into a robot or anything like the stories you read on the Internet — no, it was more subtle than that. The email said it bound a mother to her son (or sons, if more than one) — in every way, emotionally, spiritually and yes, physically or sexually for you perverts out there.
So I spent two weeks of summer savings for a powder I didn't think would work but prayed it would.
You think I'm lying right? Well I'm not — I'm just stupid. When I was 12, I tried to French kiss my mom — she gently pushed me away and kissed me chastely before turning back to her book. When I was 14, after a girls-night-out right after her divorce from dad, she came home drunk and lay snoring on the couch — where her very own son, with heart pounding so loud she would have heard it if not passed out, I lifted the back of her skirt to expose her tanned nylons and white cotton pantie beneath, then I fondled her thighs and even her bottom, smelling her the musky smell of her bottom generously before spilling not one but two loads of sperm on her lower thigh and the carpet where I knelt. Then there was the time I tried to spike her milk shake with grandma's sleeping pills, she went to sleep early, but when I snuck in she woke up and I mumbled an excuse before rushing out. I'm that stupid.
Getting the picture yet? It's a pattern born out of desperation.
More recently I was under the impression that mother knew her son yearned for her but ensured my childish antics came to to nought. She also never said a word to me about it, and for that I knew she loved and honoured me and every time I made some fumbling attempt toward her, guilt filled me for days after.
Now after years of stupid childish attempts I stand impotent in my room, trembling and shocked at what I had done, just when one of my sorties at mother had actually worked.
Of course I had never thought it through — stupid I told you — how would it affect her life now that she and dad had divorced, being permanently drawn to her only son. What did I want out of all my attempts, did I want to have sex with my mom? To that question I can honestly say ... I'm not sure. Of course we indulged in some wild and crazy antics in my fantasies, but again, those were just fantasies, the reality of our lives never interrupted a good jerk-off session. What had transpired downstairs was reality and one that I was ill prepared for.
A knock on the door I was leaning against made me jump a meter away. I rushed to my bed and took a deep breath, and said with forced calm, "Come in mother." She and I lived here alone, it could be no one else.
The door opens and mother's face appears, her cheeks are red, her eyes filled with tears, "May I come in honey?"
She comes in, still wearing her nurse uniform — pale pink slacks with a white blouse top with the buttons closed to her neck. Mother stands almost nervously, her back to the open door, she shuffles on her feet before crossing her arms over her chest. "Downstairs ... I'm sorry what just happened. It was inappropriate and stupid of me."
My head nods negatively but she wasn't looking at me but at the floor between us.
Suddenly she is gone, the door to her bedroom closing. A moment later, I could hear her shower running.
I sit stunned. What have I done!
Starting supper, mother reappears wearing an old over-sized cotton sweat pants and a over-sized tee-shirt, she appears beside me without a sound and the two of us prepare a generous meal. At the table mother tries to engage me in conversation about school but that melts away back to awkward silence. When suddenly mother puts down her water cup with a bang and barks, "Damn it honey, I know it's unfair what happened, but life is unfair!"
Mother covers her face with her palms and sobs, "My life ... how could I be so stupid..."
This emotional outpouring is enough to have me rushing to her side, my arms embracing her, she slips her arms about me, her face pressed into my chest. She pulls away after some minutes and wipes her tears from her flushed cheeks, "Could we talk about what happened honey? I need to talk to someone and I know it's unfair..."
"Sure mom." Mother always wanted to talk about 'it'- whatever that topic was.
She smiles thankfully at me. We leave our half-eaten meals and go to the living room to sit beside each other on the couch, she sitting sideways with one leg bent, facing me.
She begins, "I was a good daughter", she was number three, "and I believed my parents. I married the first man I had sex with." I gulped at this point but thankfully she missed it. "I tried to be a good wife, but your father never seemed to be happy."
I knew this part a little too well, it was part of my hypothesis why I was drawn to my mother, to protect her from the verbal abuse of my father, her husband.
"I ... I wanted to make him happy, in bed I mean."
Another gulp, and I dare not look at mother — but wanted her to continue, even if this was making me feel all prickly all over.
"But he lost interest in me not long after you were born. I knew there were others, often younger girls, but I tried to ignore the truth and was a dutiful wife. It was when your father came home to tell me he was leaving us — it is humiliating how I acted, I would have done anything for a man who probably never loved me. So it's just you and me now, and you may not realize this but I never dated, your dad turned me off men, that I could never trust them again. But there was one young man in my life, you!" Her hand grasped my thigh and squeezed meaningfully. "I knew ... well, that you had thoughts about me, but that was normal ... but then a few weeks ago I started to have thoughts about you too." About the time I administered the powder I had purchased. "It's crazy of course, a mother desiring her son, but I kept it under control until earlier. Honey, what I'm saying is that I apologize for what happened, I'm just a stupid old lonely woman, will you forgive me?"
I had not looked at her since the start of her tale but did so now, her eyes were filled with tears and she looked nervous at me. Had she revealed more about herself to anyone before this moment? If you recall the potion was not just sexual but also emotional, spiritual.
The fact that she was feeling drawn to me more than before is, of course, my fault and the fact that she was asking for my forgivingness for acting as she had earlier ... well, it brought tears to my own eyes. I being the cause of all this. I lunged into her, and we clung to each other for several minutes.
We came up with small chuckles and side-ways looks before mother asked, "Do you want to cuddle and watch a movie?"
The drug had caused mother and I to be closer than I had ever considered and I felt warm and loved and wanted nothing more than to be near her. So, what I'm saying is, of course we cuddled and watched a movie.
Yet there is that third thing, physically dawn together. After the popcorn was done, just sitting beside each other with our feet intertwined wasn't enough, we lay down upon the couch with her back to my front, watching the movie. Except I had stopped being able to concentrate on the movie — the warmth of her body, the clean smell of her hair, the soft fleshy bottom pressed into my front. I got erect and lay frozen, afraid — there was no retreat with my back to the couch. Then mother wiggled ever so slightly, it allowed my painfully hard dick to slip between the globs of her bottom to rest in that fleshy valley. Only a moment, maybe two, before she moved her hips pressing her bottom against me.
I heard myself gasp. There was no mistaking what she had done. Then a few seconds later, she did it again, this time with an muffled moan of pleasure. It was a slow rhythm, shoving her ass back into me once every five seconds — but there was no mistaking what was going on. When I thrust back mother gasped and turned her face so that it pressed into the pillow we shared. I felt her hand fumble to find mine, drawing it around her before resting it upon her covered breast, leaving it there as her hand slipped back around herself to grasp my hip.
I thrust in time to her movements, my hand holding her covered soft warm breast, squeezing with the same beat as my pelvis. All too soon, I began to ejaculate almost violently in my pants, my body jerking with the immensity of the release — mother had frozen with her ass pressed into me, the cheeks of her bottom tensing against my jerking member.
My breathing came ragged into her messy head of hair, the movie over mother slowly rolled into a sitting position, turning she gave me a dreamy smile then stood. I could see the wet spot up the crack of her ass where I had soaked through my own pants and into hers. Another smile then she was gone.
I lay staring at the ceiling feeling less fearful of what I had done and more excitement. My dad may have been a jerk to my mother, which drew me to her, but now that he is gone I wanted to take his place, to be the man in her life, to care and love her, and definitely not be a jerk to her.
Not for the first time, I felt embarrassed at the childish antics I had attempted upon her over the last few years.
Mother was no beauty — she had a cute if not aged face, was short of stature, her extra pounds added onto her bottom and hips while her chest was probably small in comparison but on her tiny frame looked generous. Her hair was normally styled short, and right now it was curly with a bottled tinge of red. She didn't draw looks at the mall, but she could dress up and look fine. This woman was the one who starred in my teenage sexual fantasies and I loved her deeply.
The door to her room was uncharacteristically open but the lights were off and I couldn't see anything within. I entered my own room, leaving the door open since she had, stripped to my soiled boxers and then sat on my bed reliving what had happened today.
I'm not sure what time sleep overcame me but I awoke with the morning sun coming into my room, warming me where I lay on the top of my bed. I could smell bacon and pulled on some sweat pants before following my nose down to the kitchen. Mother stood in her fuzzy slippers and robe and gave me a quick forced smile before returning to her cooking. I sat down at the table, mother bringing me a big cup of orange juice without looking at me. The eggs, bacon and toast was filling and energized me.
Mother barely ate and could not look at me the whole meal, but when I was done she finally spoke up, "Your father told me, more than once, that I was a 'boring fat fuck' and could not be bothered to even get it up for me anymore."