Chapter 1

“My name is Ingrid Muldurhoek, and my son has been in charge of me for ten years.” I smiled at the group. No matter how embarrassed or ashamed or worried at these meetings, I could manage a smile. I suspect, because of my smile and that I manage a small library, I was chosen to organize them. ‘SMOMS’ have no leaders. There is only one person charge of a member, unless they have more than one son.

Until ten years ago, the idea of sons sexually dominating their mothers, would have elicited my librarian, postive neutral smile, ‘Oh, I’m sorry, that subject isn’t available from public libraries. My career as a librarian had brought me within a year or two of becoming my branch’s head librarian. I was achieving all of my humble desires, professionally and for my family. My husband loved his work. My son was about to begin high school. Andrew was a charmer but not in a sexual way, to me.

I loved sex with my husband, Garrick. He worked from home two days a week, designing the look and feel of his company’s many web pages. We often dived upon our bed together, when I suggested a break from work.

One day, Andrew returned from school to find us mating. He was more embarrassed for us than aroused. After my husband came in me, I masturbated myself to an orgasm. As my body trembled from electric pleasures I happened to look at the door and found our son staring at us. “Oh my!” I pulled a blanket over me.

Garrick looked, noticed Andrew and did a good job of not frightening him. “Ho there, Son.” He waved the boy off. “I’ll catch up with you in a minute.” My husband kissed me. “That was fun, and weird. I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks, Sweetheart.” He dressed and met with Andrew in the kitchen.

That night, he told me that he and Andrew had a nice chat about privacy and happy people having sex. “He said he was sorry. He wants to apologize to you tomorrow.” Garrick assured. Normally, we would have made love again, but the weird part of our afternoon caught up with us. We slept soundly though.

“Mommy, I’m sorry.” Andrew woke me up by brushing my hair with his fingers. His flannel PJs sported Lord of the Rings characters with swords and staffs.

“Oh, Hon, let me sleep a little more.” I mumbled. “Go back to bed.”

“No, Mommy.” He lifted the covers on my side of our king bed and crawled in next to me. “I’ll sleep here. I couldn’t sleep much.”

“Aw.” I put my arm around his shoulders. He nuzzled his face against my breasts.” We slept for another hour. When Garrick woke, he shook my arm, “Honey, remember to get a couple front tires for the Toyota, Dunlops, no extra warrantee.

“Mmm-hmm,” I murmured. He fixed his own breakfast on the days he went to work. Leaving before rush-hour kept him sane and randy, he once told me. The bed had jostled at his getting up. I felt a slight stab against my thigh. Andrew was hard with morning wood. I chuckled and sank back into slumber.

Young hands rolled me on my back. They pulled their body on top of me. Waking a third time that morning, I realized Andrew was humping his hard-on, up and down my belly. “Andrew, what are you doing?” I almost shouted, “STOP!” but I thought it best to let him answer.

“Morning, Mommy. I’m using you.” His pevis bobbled gleefully but not strenuously across my torso.

“What?” Had I heard him right? “Wait. Stop, Honey.” I pushed my hands against his young shoulders. “What do you mean, using me?”

“No, Mommy, it’s feeling good, like Dad said.” He struggled to keep sliding his flannel clad dick against my thick, silk negligee. “He said you wanted him to use you, while you still loved it.”

Use me? My husband had told our son that he USED me? I was so startled by Andrew’s answer, my muscles slacked. His erect penis prodded my tummy freely once more.

“Ooooh, I like it, Mommy!”

I needed to pay attention to the now, not the payback I would plan for Garrick. “Honey, Mommy has to get up.” I pulled the blanket away from his humping figure but failed to roll. I tried to. He resisted. Strong young man, he was. Andrew would take after his dad’s masculine frame, in later years. He kept atop of me, but he didn’t pin me.

“Just a little more.” He actually panted. His pace increased. I could have fought him. If I had, I might have won sporadic battles from that day forward. A strange embarrassment overcame me, more like disbelief. I was incredulous. How could such a thing happen, my son rubbing his hard dick on my body? I prevaricated just long enough while he humped.

Andrew’s body shuddered, and he exclaimed, “Waaaooow!!! He fell fully upon me, motionless.

I knew what had happened. My son had rubbed himself to an orgasm. “Um, are you okay?” Why the hell did I ask that? I should have thrown him out of my room!

“That was wonderful, Mommy. So much better than by myself.”

My son was certainly old enough to have discovered masturbation, but Andrew’s laundry hadn’t any stains that I noticed. Otherwise, he’d been an exemplary, imperfect child, until the day he crept under my covers and rubbed off an orgasm against my body. That day I discovered, he hadn’t and possibly couldn’t yet cum. I didn’t feel wetness from his pajama bottoms. I did roll him off my body. I touched the span of my silk clad belly he had ‘used’. It was mostly dry, maybe a little sweat.

I let him catch his breath. Again, I’m not sure why. As I fumed about what my husband had told him, I felt a strange warmth in my cheeks. That warmth sank down my neck, relaxed my chest and lower back, and reached my hips and parts therein. I wanted Garrick for a second reason, quite opposite the first, but that would have to wait until after I gave my husband the what-for.

“You were very naughty to your Mommy, Andrew.” I waved him off of my bed. “Go! Out of the room.” He turned and stuck his tongue out at me.

I gave him extra chores that morning: trash removal, dish wiping, and weeding the front and back yards. Otherwise the day was another work day. I sent the boy off to school with additional scoldings. He was too tired to stick out his tongue.

I usually took the bus to work. Our house was perfectly placed. I didn’t have to transfer, and Garrick could jet onto a freeway distant enough to limit its noise. Today, he took mass transit, 2 hours of it, while I drove to work, and after work, to the tire center.

We had an idillic life. Garrick had one too, until he returned that evening. Andrew played video games while I took my husband out back to the patio and addressed my anger with him. I didn’t mention how his son had ‘used’ me. “Garrick, you have one chance to explain yourself, before you sleep under the stars for a week. How on Nature’s green earth did our son learn, from you, that sex was called ‘using’ somebody?”

“Huh?” Garrick asked stunned. Every inch of his large frame curled inward as if his breast bone shrank. His eyes strained at me. “I never said-” He interrupted himself. “Oh.”

I would have booted my husband in the balls, except I was wearing house slippers.

He shook his head, “No- no. It’s a mistake. I never said that.”

“What did you say?”

His resulting grin looked so sheepish I wanted to shear his lips off. “What I told him was, masturbation is not a form of abuse.” You know how stupid people are always saying that. “I told him it was a good use- Of His Time!”

He wasn’t lying, but I wasn’t satisfied either. I tapped my slipper and gave him a stink eye.

The prompt worked. He continued, “Andrew then asked if I had had a good time with you. I told him the truth. I love you, and you love me, and we enjoy our time together.” He added quickly, “I told him to respect our privacy in the future.”

Okay, I admit, my heart forgave him. My mind needed more time. “You jerk.” I smiled. “Next time, I’ll talk to him.”

“What about a father bonding with his son?”

“Sure, over everything other than sex education. You have failed this topic.” I growled.

The night went smoother after clearing up our son’s misunderstanding. We enjoyed better than average make-up sex.

Garrick worked at home the next day. When Andrew returned from school, I met him at the door. “Come with me, Andrew.” We often called him Andy. His friends did, but I needed to speak to the full person. I led him into his bedroom and closed the door. He looked worried.

“Honey, I wanted talk about what you and your dad discussed a couple days ago.”

He brightened. “Sex!”

“Yes.” I sat in his small desk chair. He plopped, happily, on his bed. “We think you’ve got the wrong idea. Sex isn’t about using people.”

“It’s not?” His brightness faltered.

“No. You’ll make girls unhappy if you try to use them.”

“Oh.”

“Sex is about two people sharing a joyful act. It’s about mutual consent.” I hoped the last words weren’t too big for him.

His eyes cast around the room. “I think you’re lying, Mom.” They zeroed in on mine.

“I beg your pardon?” I didn’t like the sound of his voice.

He slipped off the bed and stood in front of me. “I used you yesterday, and you didn’t want me to, but you love me.”

I had never been confronted with such an attitude. My heart thumped as a prelude to panic. “Th-that was a mistake. You caught me off guard, Andrew. I-it won’t happen again.” Confidence bled out with my words.

His next sentence bled it dry. “Of course it will, Mommy.” He put a firm hand on my head and tugged it down. “See, it’s already happening.” He aimed my face at the bulge in his pants. It was growing.

“SON!” I blurted and knocked his hand off of my head. “That’s a terrible thing to do!” I jumped up and ran out of the room.

That night, behind our bedroom door, Garrick gave me an unbridled talking to. “Andy was in tears when he came to me.” Garrick related. “You told him getting an erection was terrible?”

“I’m sorry.” I quailed. “It’s as if he wants to misunderstand us.”

“No. You screwed up, worse than I did. There’s no misunderstanding. Maybe we should just let the school system handle it.”

“That won’t happen for three years.” I cursed America’s religious heritage.

“I’ll buy him a book or two.”

We searched online for a young person’s guide to sex. It was “Turning Into a Man. Tuning Out The Man.” We both snickered reading that. It offered beautiful drawings of several sizes and colors of penises and ball sacks, while its lessons strived to make all men ‘equal’. Primarily written for boys, it included discussions of girl parts, their many perspectives of their bodies, and how to respect and honor them.

We presented it to Andrew the day after it arrived in the mail, together.

“Here, Andy. We think you’re ready to learn about sex on your own, but if you have any questions. Mom and Dad are always here to help.”

The first question arrived on my bed, the next time his daddy left for work. I could sleep in - librarian hours.

“Mommy, wake up!” Andrew shook my pillow. “I think something’s wrong.”

“Hnngghh?” I uttered. My eyes opened and slowly focused. Standing before me was my son’s fully erect cock.

“It’s not like the pictures!”

“Honey...” I started. I shifted on the bed, away from him. “What pictures?” Instantly, a printout filled my vision. His hand gripped several pages, but the one in front showed all I needed to see. The dick was dark and veined, hairy, and about ten inches. It’s tip was firmly ensconced in a vulgar looking pussy.

“Look, Mommy, look. I don’t have any hair, and this has blue lines standing out! Mine is smooth.” He pouted.

Too much information overloaded my vision and mental and emotional processes. I blurted, “Andrew, that’s porn! It’s not real! How did you get those pictures?”

“From online. The book had an address, but it was too long to type. I searched the book name. This is from the bonus pages. Don’t you know anything?” It took me half a second to realize, his search had brought up porn instead of the book’s companion website.

Verily, as I continued to process my son’s anxiety and media blitz, I saw two words printed at the top of the prick printout, “The Man.” Piss! I swore in my head. Wait, how the hell did he get past the adult restrictions on our computer? I placed them there myself, with all my librarian superpowers. Andrew was adept with computers but mildly. He was no hacker, not even script kiddie material. I doubt he knew the difference between a VPN and an ISP.

I railed at my son. “Clearly, I don’t know anything. Momma is even dumb enough to wake up for your nonsense.” I glanced at my son’s erection, dispassionately. “You’re fine, Andrew. Your penis is fine. I know you read that book. You know you’re only a little late getting pubic hair.” Thin bristles sprouted over his scrotum.

He quieted, and his hand pulled the papers to rest at his thigh. He looked at his penis, then me. “I’m sorry.” He did an odd thing. His hand reached out and stuffed the papers under my pillow. Releasing them, he grabbed my bedcovers and climbed in under them. “I’ll sleep more here.”

Huddling together, he fell asleep. I stayed awake. I wanted to get out of bed and see what had happened to the computer content filters. I decided it was best to let the boy sleep. His face twitched in his sleep, against my negligee covered breasts. Silly child.

I woke up, on my back. Andrew clung to my side, rubbing his morning wood slowly against my thigh. His hand roamed hesitantly across my belly. When he groped my breast, he woke me. His hand cupped my bulge farthest from him. He gave my nipple a quick finger flick. Both had turned rock hard and pressed visibly through my nighty. I pulled his hand off of me. “Stop that, Andrew. Get out of the bed, now.”

“No, Mommy. I need to use you.” Learning I was awake, his humping lump pressed harder. It rubbed quicker. “Mmmmm.”

“I won’t let you. Now stop it.” I pushed his shoulder to show I meant it.

“You have to let me, Mommy. That’s what the other book said.”

Other book? A dark dread stayed my fighting spirit. “Where did you get another book?”

“Online, a PDF.” It came up in the search. He sounded pleased with himself. His boy cock continued to abuse my silk clad thigh. This time, his penis was naked. “It was another book called, Tuning Into Manhood by Turning on the Mom.”

Not only had my son found dirty pictures on the net, he had downloaded a dirty book, probably a modern imitation of utterly sleazy and raunchy books from the seventies and eighties, the ones that had been mass produced by organized crime. “Andrew, I don’t have to do anything but get you away from me.” I pushed again but tried not to tumble him over the edge. I managed to separate his top half from my side. His knees were locked around my leg, letting his pelvis buck however he liked.