My Mother Helped Me Write This!
Chapter 1


My mother helped me write this!

A few years ago, I was on my computer, starting to write a new story to put on StoriesOnline. I post there because most of the other sex story sites have rules against writing stories concerning persons under the age of 18.

My mom came up behind me and asked, “What are you doing?”

I tried to cover the screen, but she pulled my hands away, and said, “You’re writing ... porn?”

Dejected, over being found out, I simply shrugged and said, “Yeah Mom, I’m sorry!”

“Well, let me see it. I want to read what you’ve written,” she insisted.


“Honey ... don’t worry? I was an English teacher for six years - If nothing else, I can help you with your grammar.”


She said, “Don’t you want to have ‘perfect grammar’, honey?”

“Mom,” I argued, “Nobody else worries about grammar, when writing this kind of stuff!”

“What do you mean? And you know how much I hate the word ‘stuff’. It’s so ... non-specific,” she complained.

“There’s a different set of rules for writing porn, Mom,” I argued.

“Explain yourself,” she said sitting down beside me.

“Don’t you have cookies to bake,” I asked, “Or bedrooms to clean and vacuum?”

“Richard Joseph Samuels the III, I will not leave this room until you at least explain what you mean, that pornographic stories have some sort of ‘different standard’ when it comes to grammar and spelling?”

“OK, Mom ... you asked,” I said, “But understand that this is going to get very uncomfortable for me.”

“Got it! Now show me what you’ve written so far?”

“Mom, go get your tablet, it would best if you were to read a few stories written by some of the more experienced authors. I’m really new at this, OK? I’ll wait for you ... I promise!”

“Such a good boy,” she said, walking quickly out, then back into my room, now with her iPad in hand.

“OK honey, what’s the name of the website you’re using?”

“,” I responded.

She opened her Google app and typed it in, “Do I need to set up my own account, Rich?”

“Yeah, my guess is that nobody uses their real name. It is porn, after all,” I said. I was remarkably comfortable at this point.

“What name should I use,” she asked me with a wink, in case I ever decide to write my own stories?”

“Whatever, you could describe yourself, do something silly, or sexy. It doesn’t really matter. You might want to create first, a new email account, which forwards to your regular one.”

“Why, Richard?”

“A whole lot of perverts may decide to start sending you stuff, stuff you might not want Dad to see ... get it?”

“You certainly seem to know all about this, for a 15-year-old boy?”

“I’ve been looking and reading this stuff for a couple of years, Mom,” I admitted, and I think I blushed a little.

“Richard, this is an Adult Only website. What got you into this anyway?”

“Promise you won’t ground me, or hit me?”

“Richard, it’s OK ... go ahead!”

“Because of Debbie,” I told her.

“Your sister, Debbie? But, she’s 18-years-old, and you’re only ... Oohh! I get it. You find your sister attractive, don’t you?”

Suddenly, I was getting nervous, but I might as well completely fess up. I admitted, “Yeah, Mom ... I find Debbie very attractive. So are you!”

“Me, you find your own mother - what word do I want to use – HOT?”

“The HOTTEST, Mom! Of all of my friend’s moms, you’re easily the prettiest, and especially because you’ve got the biggest ... eyes, yeah, your eyes are so beautiful!”

“Thank you, I think. OK, I got the new Gmail account started, forwarding to my AOL account. Now I go back to, and set up my account with”

“Yeah, big eyes are a great fake email to use,” I said, stopping to look at her eyes, then dropping for a split second to look at her rack, easily C Cups, maybe even Ds.

“Did you just ‘check me out, ‘ Richard?”

“Why, do you ask that, Mom?”

“From the corner of my eye, I saw you looking at my face, but I swore that your eyes dropped to my chest. Have you been doing that this whole time, since you’ve been online? Don’t answer that! Now that I’m into the site, I want to see some of the stories you’ve written, what’s your SOL Author Name?”

“You picked that up pretty quick, Beautiful!”

“Ooh, now it comes out!” she said, “You must also have a crush on your mother, don’t you?”

“What if I said ‘yes’ to that, are we still OK?”

“Certainly honey, as long as all you ever do is look at me. I don’t know what I’d do, if my 15-year-old son started to touch or grab at me ... and I don’t want to find out either. What’s your Author name?”

“HARDIII,” I told her.

“Is that because ‘h.a.r.d’ is part of your name, or is it because you get ‘h.a.r.d.’ from reading and writing stories?”

“Can I refuse to answer, on the grounds it may incriminate me?”

“You are so cute, when you get all flustered like that. Now where do I go?”

“Let me see, what screen are you at?”

She was at the Home screen, so I told her to click on the AUTHORS link. After that I told her to scroll to the H’s until she found my Author name.

“There are certainly a lot of Authors listed here,” she said, “Some of them have written a lot of stories, a few over a hundred. And that is just the H’s!”

“Mom, porn is a thriving business, while most guys get off looking at pictures and watching videos ... some only peruse sites like this, looking for something to jac ... get off on. While I admit that I’ve seen some videos, I really do prefer, ‘the written word!”

As odd as this conversation is, I was getting marginally more comfortable, although I was getting hard because of my Mom. Sometimes, like right now, all she has on is an athletic bra and shorts.

“Do you prefer reading or writing, Rich,” she casually asked?

“Like I said before, I’ve been reading for almost two years. I finally got the guts to start writing about a month ago,” I admitted.

“Where do I click on this page, Honey?”

“The Authors Name, which will bring up all of his or her stories, usually in the order that they were posted. You’ll find the Title, clicking on it will open it, but before you do that, look at the Description to see if it’s something you’d like. The codes, well some are self-descriptive, but I’ll show you another place that explains them better.”

“Yeah, I get some of these, like ‘lolita’ must mean that it’s about an underage girl, or ‘mastrb’ focuses on someone masturbating ... speaking of masturbating, I assume that’s what you meant, when you said ‘get off’ a minute ago. How often do you masturbate?”


“Oh honey, except for being only 15, being around these stories must cause you to masturbate ... so how much do you?”

Her eyes fell upon mine, and I didn’t look back at her at first. I turned and said, “A couple of times ... a day!”

“A day? My goodness, I guess being young has its advantages, doesn’t it? Your father can only get it up a couple of times a week!”


“Oh, Richard ... you’re sounding like a prude. A young man who jacks off, twice a day – to stories, no less – cannot, by definition be a prude! What is it honey, you look flush?”

“I’m... 15, I’ve got my hot mother sitting next to me, and she just said, ‘Jack off.” Take three guesses, the first two don’t count,” I exclaimed.

“Oh, dear ... I’m sorry, do you want me to leave so you can take care of ... that?”

“MOM! Gee-whiz, you’ve got enough information to look around, see what I’ve written, along with what others have. I’ll talk to you about it later, after dinner. I need to take a cold shower,” I explained as best as I could.

I heard her giggle, as she picked up her tablet, and left my room.


Mom made enchiladas for dinner that night, and they were so good. All during dinner, I was getting the occasional look from Mom. I would catch her smiling at me, but there seemed more to it.

I excused myself, putting my plate in the sink, saying that I needed to get to my homework. I took my glass of milk with me up to my room.

After a bit, I heard the TV come on downstairs, and glanced at my watch. That was Dad sitting down to an hour of news. Debbie had come upstairs, knocked on my door asking, “Anything I can help you with, Rich?”

“Nope, these are my easiest two, Math and English,” I said.

“Thanks anyway, Sis ... love ya!”

It was a casual, throwaway remark, but she came back in, to give me a nice hug. I felt her tits up against my back as she said, “Thanks little brother, I love you too!” She left my room, just as Mom was coming in. She closed my door.

“Richard, I’ve read a few of your stories. For the most part, they are quite well written, with just a few errors in grammar and voice,” she said.

“Voice! What does that mean? I’ve never had a teacher explain ‘voice’ before!”

“Well, it’s a college-level writing term. It deals with the relationship between the ‘action’ and the ‘verb’. It boils down to either, ‘Active Voice’, or ‘Passive Voice.’ Have you ever heard of either of those terms?”

“No, never!”

“All right, here’s an example. ‘A dog chews up my newspaper every day.’ That is ‘Active’. In ‘Passive’, the sentence would change to: “My newspaper is chewed up by a dog, every day, ‘ Do you hear the difference at all?”

“All it sounds like to me,” I answered, “is, that the object, the newspaper, is mentioned last, or after the verb chews in the Active sentence, and its reversed in the passive, did I say that right?”

“It’s a good start, practically none of the stories I read were very consistent with their voice,” mom said.

“They’re probably more interested in getting the sex anatomically correct, then anything else. And some of them, don’t even get that right,” I said with a laugh.

Mom chuckled as well, “I agree, Richard. Between the guys who have 10-inch dicks and gals with the 44DD boobs, its no wonder that your generation is so cavalier about sex!”

“Now Mom, don’t lump me in with the rest of the cretins that are my age. I understand the difference between fantasy and reality,” I said.

“All right, prove it! You wrote a story where the mother had 38 double-D breasts,” she said.

“Yeah, my second story, ‘Amazing Mammaries!’”

“That is nice alliteration Richard, well thought out. So how big do you think MY breasts are?”

She actually asked me that?

I guessed, “Thirty-Four B?”

“Thirty-Four C Richard. I have you to thank for these being this big.”

“Hold on, hold on, just a minute,” I said, “now you need to explain that to me, please?”

“All right, by the way, don’t use OK, all the time. Change it up, to ‘All right’ or something else. Back to my boobs ... Sorry honey? I had, growing up, size thirty-two B breasts. When I got pregnant with your sister, they became thirty-three C’s. Then after she was born, they lessened to thirty-three B’s. They stayed that size until you, my baby boy, took over my hormones. I got up to thirty-four D’s, much to your father’s delight. After you were born, they settled back to the thirty-four C’s they’ve been ever since.”

“That’s good information, Mom! Stuff ... sorry, things I need to understand for writing my next couple of stories.”

“One other thing to talk to you about, before I leave you alone,” she said.

“What is that, Mom,” I said, although I had an idea what it was about.

“All of your stories are either in the ‘Brother-Sister’ or ‘Mother-Son’ sub-category. Are you fantasizing about your sister, and about me?”

I hung my head low, hopefully answering her question ... without actually answering her question.

“Look at me, honey? It’s flattering to me that you fantasize about ... us. You must realize how preposterous that idea is. Sons having sex with their own Mothers ... or Sisters! It doesn’t matter that the preponderance of incest stories on SOL are of that ilk.”

“I think that it’s OK for you to write about whatever, but don’t ever expect either Debbie or myself to actually do anything to, or for you ... do you understand? Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes Ma’am!” I quickly responded. “Mom ... you are the prettiest lady of all of my friend’s mothers!”

“Thanks!” she said leaving my room.

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Story tagged with:
mt/Fa / Romantic / Heterosexual / Humor / Mother / Son / Brother / Sister /