Mom's Insecurities
Copyright© 2026 by APerv2
Chapter 2
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 2 - Mom was in the dumps after dad left for a younger woman, and felt ugly. I only wanted to reassure her but...
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Fiction Incest Mother Son
I woke to Rascal poking me with his cold, wet nose. I tried to shoo him away, but he’d have no part of it. He jumped up onto the bed and started wagging his tail and licking my face. I wondered why he was waking ME up to take him out. He normally slept in Mom’s room and would wake her to take him.
“OK, OK. I’m up, Rascal, I’m up.” I pulled him close and bit him playfully on his face, growling into his soft fur, “Who’s the bad dog, Rascal? Who’s the bad dog? He’s the bad dog, yes, he is.” I bit him again, then pushed him off the bed.
Yes ... I “baby talk” to the dog like a few million other pet owners. He’s one of the family. I’m sure if my mom had a purse big enough ... she’d put him in it and carry his ass around everywhere she went.
I rubbed my eyes and got my bearings. I was in my mom’s room. Last night came flooding back to me. I looked at the clock, 9:15. I spun around; Mom was sleeping soundly next to me. She looked so peaceful, so content. Her hair lay in her face in whispers, covering one eye and barely teasing the corner of her pretty mouth. Her mouth was slightly open; her quiet, steady breathing causing the few strands of hair that lay across her full lips to dance around aimlessly. I had to fight the urge to kiss her ... just on the cheek ... maybe softly on the corner of her mouth. I didn’t want to wake her. We’d fallen asleep just a couple of hours ago.
Rascal whined at the door to go out. I slipped out of bed as quietly as I could. I was naked. I shot a quick look out the open bedroom door to make sure my little brother wasn’t looking in. It wouldn’t do to have to try and explain what I was doing in Mom’s bed, let alone what I was doing naked. I tease him a lot about being “slow” ... But he’s not a moron.
I fetched my pants and pulled them on as fast as I could and headed to the back door to take Rascal out. Timmy lay sleeping on the couch, unbothered by Rascal.
I let Rascal out, stretched, and surveyed the morning sky as I stepped out onto the patio. It was cloudy grey; it looked like rain. I made my way to the lawn chair and flopped my tired ass down while Rascal smelled EVERY place that EVERY dog had EVER peed ... since the time the Woolly German Shepherd chased dinosaurs on this very beach.
I sat and recalled every second Mom had shared with me the night before and into the early hours of this morning; the weight of her breasts in my hand, the feel of her soft skin, the taste of the ocean and wine on her lips. Before I could get completely lost in the sweet recollections, I became filled with a kind of nervousness, a fear. My entire body shivered. “Suppose she’s sorry?”
My biggest fear was that she might be sorry about what had happened; sorry the salty spray of the ocean, the sound of the waves, the moonlight and the wine had caused her to make a horrible mistake. I hoped desperately that wouldn’t be the case. I didn’t want her to be sorry. I couldn’t bear the thought of ME giving her yet another reason to be sad. On the contrary ... I wanted to be the one to get her past all that, to show her that there was a life after Dad. I wanted to show her that she was ... special.
I let Rascal in after he’d finally found a place that was worthy of his pee. I went straight to the kitchen to make coffee. I was tired and a bit groggy, but oddly energized at the same time, somewhat aroused by the memories I’d conjured up of me and my mom and, until I was sure of how she felt about everything, a bit nervous as well. I needed to know how Mom felt about our ... encounter. All and all, I was optimistic and looking forward to finding out what the day would bring.
Timmy was up by the time the coffee was brewed.
“Where’s Mom?”
“Still sleeping.”
“She OK?”
Mom was usually the first one up.
“She’s fine, we were up kinda late last night, that’s all.”
“How come?”
His question evoked images and memories of the way Mom felt in my arms, how she smelled and the way everything seemed to disappear for that short time we lay on the wet sand.
“Because we were checking out different schools on the internet.”
“Schools? For what?”
“For you.” I told him as I poured myself a cup of hot coffee. It smelled sooo good. {Ya ever notice that the more ya NEED coffee ... The better it smells?}
“For me? What for?” Timmy lashed.
“You know, special schools... {I signed Quotations with my fingers with the word- Special} ... that will teach you how to count, dress yourself, and wipe your own ass ... and maybe they can even do something about that masturbation problem too. I’m surprised you’re not blind yet.”
“I DON’T DO THAT!” He yelled.
“Shhhh, you’ll wake Mom up.”
“I’m telling her when she gets up.”
I smiled and slipped a glass of juice in front of him. “Eggs alright for breakfast?”
“NO.”
“Well, maybe lunch will work out for ya then.”
I made breakfast for him anyway. We ate, talked, and figured we’d just let Mom sleep and hit the waves early before the rain moved in. I cleaned up our breakfast dishes while Timmy got into his bathing suit.
I put a mug on a napkin right near the coffee maker for Mom. I laid a clean spoon beside it and placed the sugar bowl alongside as well. I poured a little milk in a small juice glass and set it down next to the mug and then grabbed pen and paper to write Mom a note.
I told her to come get me as soon as she got her coffee. I wanted to make her some breakfast.
What I really wanted was to SEE her, look in her eyes. I needed to know how she felt about last night and was pretty sure the answer would be in those first few seconds our eyes met.
It was important to me that she smile first thing this morning. So I explained in the note, in length, why I’d put the milk in the small juice glass next to her mug. I explained in as few words as possible, how everyone knows if you love someone ... Really LOVE someone ... enough, you shouldn’t let them put COLD milk in HOT coffee. “It simply isn’t right.” I wrote.
I went on to say how well aware I was of the debates and the growing controversy surrounding the “Cold milk in hot coffee vs. room temperature milk” issue.
And went on to tell her how opening that refrigerator door the 4 or 5 times each morning for creamer, tallied up per week... per month, and multiplied by the estimated gross population of dedicated coffee drinkers... adds up to a phenomenal amount of wasted energy each year. Enough to run an electric subway train {One car... Empty} for more than 6 ft. Give or take.
I folded the note and dropped it in her empty mug.
Timmy and I headed out to the ocean with Rascal leading the way. I mostly lounged on my towel trying not to fall asleep while Timmy and Rascal did their thing. It was just before 11:00 when I heard Mom calling from the patio.
“Hey Shit for Brains...” I yelled to Timmy. He flipped me off. “You’re gonna be able to hang out here with the dog without drowning the both of you?”
He stopped in his tracks, “Where are you going?”
“Mom’s calling me.”
“Go ahead, who cares.”
I got up and hurried back to the cottage.
Mom was standing on the patio in a long T-shirt that came down to the middle of her thighs. She held her cup of coffee with this... “You think you’re funny, don’t you” ... look on her face. I noticed the coffee-stained note in her other hand. It would seem she’d started to pour coffee in her mug before she noticed the note. I could tell right away... She was happy. I saw no sign of sorrow or conflict in her beautiful eyes.
“Thanks for the thought.” She says as she holds her mug up in a mock toast. She had no way of knowing that she was all I’d thought about all morning.
“And thanks for the lesson in thermal anomalies. Pretty deep.”
“Well, I’m just trying to get the word out... Get everyone a little ‘Greener’, ya know?”
We stepped close together, our eyes dancing, neither of us willing to broach the subject or show the other what was really on their minds.
“What’s your brother doing?”
“Running around with Rascal.”
Mom turned her head up and down the beach, shading her eyes with her hand even though there was no sun to speak of, looking for Timmy. He was so far down the beach that if not for Rascal running and jumping all around him, he would have been hard to identify.
“Ready for some breakfast?” I asked as I stepped even closer.
“It’s almost 11:00.” She giggled, the recollection of why she’d slept in so late flickered in her eyes. I know this because she blushed as she said it. She looked young and vibrant, with a girl-next-door beauty that I couldn’t look away from. I had no doubt that I was looking at the woman my father had fallen in love with so many years ago. And it was easy to see why he had.
“Are ... you OK?” I asked, jumping headfirst into the water, no longer able to wait for conversation to take the long way around. I had to know how she felt; had to hear the words. I wanted to kiss her and I wanted to know if I should.
She looked over my shoulder, out along the grey/blue horizon as if the answer might be out there someplace. A smile creped slowly onto the place I wanted so badly to kiss.
“I’m good.” She told me slowly as if maybe she wasn’t quite sure. “I’m really good.” she amended as our eyes once again met.
She reached up and caressed my face with the backs of her fingers, a damp corner of the coffee-stained note dangling in her hand, barely touching my lip. She glanced over my shoulder to make sure her other son was occupied ... then thrust her head forward and gave me a kiss; quick and hard on the lips, like a young girl kisses her boyfriend on the front porch steps after her father has flicked the porch light on and off a few times to hurry her along. A kiss that I wanted so badly to pull her into.
“You said something in here ... She wiggled the note in my face ... about cooking me some breakfast.”
“Technically, it’s more like brunch now, but I guess since you got it in writing, there’s no backing out.”
“Well ... You didn’t actually sign it, so I guess ‘technically’ anybody could have written it ... Anyone that really loves me, I mean.”
“I can’t imagine there’s anyone who loves you more than me.” I told her, keeping up with the playful banter but knowing full well I’d never spoken truer words.
I love my mom, always have. But this was different. As “wrong” as some might say it is ... As unnatural as it might seem to most ... I believed I was falling in love with her. Sometime last night, she had become an enchanting, desirable woman with an inner beauty that far exceeded the beautiful exterior that everyone who saw her was fortunate enough to see. I had known no one like her in all my young life and was sure I would never know another through the end of days.
I’m not the sharpest bulb in the shed or the brightest tool on the tree, and sometimes I might get my mirds a little wixed up ... But I was pretty sure I knew what love was.
She crammed the note in my front pocket, for lack of a better place to put it, and took my hand. “Come on.” Mom says. “I’m hungry.”
She gave Timmy a final glance, then turned towards the sliding glass doors. I was half a step behind her. I felt ... Wonderful ... and I wanted to make sure she felt the same way.
We had just barely gotten in the door when Mom stopped abruptly and turned to face me. My momentum closed the distance between us, and we ended up nose to nose.
“Are you OK with what happened?” she asked, a deep need, a longing in her eyes with just a hint of sadness, no doubt reserved for an answer she didn’t want to hear. Like me ... She had to be sure. She had to hear me say the words before she would risk exposing herself, so to speak.
“I’m more than OK with it.”
I wasn’t trying to build up her self-esteem, drag her away from the edge, throw her a Coast Gaud approved floating device ... I was just being honest. I suppose she saw the truth in my eyes because that tiny shard of sadness I’d seen in her eyes just seconds before ... had disappeared.
Mom’s mouth moved the tiny bit needed to reach mine, my lips welcomed it. My arms slid around her thin waist and we kissed. A soft, content kiss. I felt Mom’s body relax, like settling into a nice hot bath after being caught in a late November rain. I’m not sure if it was a sign of relief or just a simple surrender, but I felt her lips quickly turn from two full, soft whispers of velvet into two large cats, claws out, converging on a single source of food.
Her fingers swept across my cheek and came to rest on the nape of my neck. Her other hand made its way someplace behind me as she tried to pull me even closer... Electricity shot through me. My body jerked and spasmed as my brain fought her lips for control of my senses. I tensed and Mom felt it.