Chapter 1

When I read jackieoh's story "My Mother's Son", it really hit home for me. And while my story is VERY different in most ways from that one, there are three striking similarities:

1. My mother and I had an affair thirty years ago.

2. She's been dead three months as I started writing this.

3. I am in the midst of administrating of her estate.

So, even with the huge difference in our experiences, coupled with the fact that jackieoh is at least three times the writer that I am, here's a big thanks for writing "My Mother's Lover" and getting me off the snide to do what I have wanted to do for years. And that's write my story as an effort to take it out of my personal closet and have a good long look at it. Relive it and remember the exciting times my mother and I had before our circumstances changed and we went on with our lives. I also want to set down some thoughts I've had about mother/son incest—and invite others to give me feedback.

My mother was eighty-five at her passing. Interestingly, her death was exactly thirty years to the month that she and I finally got beyond the cautious circling of each other that had been going on for weeks and crossed the line into blatant incest.

And interestingly, I am the same age now, fifty-five, that she was then. Don't know what to make of that, but as I say, it's an interesting fact. I shouldn't be surprised that I'm still a horny male at fifty-five after my mother showed me how hot and eager a female can be at that age.

It's a well-known fact how us guys have a latent desire to fuck our mothers. I've read many of the mother and son incest stories on this site. I agree with jackieoh that most of them, while good reading, seem pure stroke stories fueled by that buried longing. Some stories say they are true. But to me most of those so labeled seem to be pure fiction stoke stories fueled by the buried longing. Just my opinion.

Others, however, are eerily similar to mine in significant ways, so I'm betting they may be true as well. I'll be reading them and thinking, yeah, yeah, that's how it was with Mom and me.

If the reader is only interested in a stoke story, then go to Chapter 4 where you'll find the hot action. But if you are interested in mother/son incest as a topic beyond the stroke potential, then hang with me as I do the background for our affair. And then indulge me here and there when I muse about sexually and incest. I've had thirty years to ponder this topic and I think I have a few things to say.

My first musing on mother and son incest: Unlike so many of the stories on this site, it took a lot of things lining up just right for this to have happened with Mom and me. A lot of things. The societal taboo was so strong, and the resulting the chasm between my mother's pussy and my dick was such a great distance apart, that it took a quality effort to build a bridge for 'Crossing the Great Taboo.'

Here's the background:

I was an only child. My mother was thirty when she had me. She and Dad had long given up on her getting pregnant and were exploring adoption, when, surprise, here I came.

I was raised in a church-going family. Our church was mostly a social church, not a fire-breathing, Bible thumping place, but my upbringing was very moral and upright. We went to church every Sunday, and Mom, anyway, was very involved there. She taught Sunday school and was always on at least one committee. Our social life centered around church, which I attribute to some of the hang-ups I had about sex—(nice girls don't). I was a late bloomer, having had sex with only two girls in college before I got married the first time.

Growing up, we never discussed sex at home. It just wasn't done. Almost an asexual home, if you will. I think that came from Mom's strict upbringing. (Unlike me, she was raised in a fire-breathing, Bible-thumping church.) Mom always dressed modestly, and I never saw even a hint of cleavage. When I first learned about the birds and bees, I couldn't image my mother doing anything like that. Dad maybe, but Mom? Nah.

Mom and Dad were opposites in almost every way. Mom was reserved; Dad was an outgoing life of the party type. Mom was short and slightly plump, light haired with a great ass and bigger than average breasts. She was formal and proper, I guess is the best way to describe her. She had a calm, no-nonsense, outward demeanor and she thought everything through before acting. Dad was dark-haired, tall thin, intense, and impulsive. A Mutt and Jeff couple if there ever was one.

I was twenty-five and had been married three years when I graduated from veterinary school. My wife was a dental hygienist and worked to help but me through school. One week to the day before I graduated, the two-timing bitch came home and announced that she was leaving me to marry her boss. A traumatic experience that left me plenty wounded. (Nice girls just don't commit adultery—wrong!)

After graduating, I spent a year working seventy-hour weeks for slave wages at a big practice in Atlanta. While there, I had a live-in arraignment with a woman also going through a divorce. That relationship ended shockingly bad. (More on that soon as it played too a role in how Mom and I got going.) So my self-esteem at that point was pretty fractured. And my sexual life was non-existent.

I decided to come back to my hometown to set up my practice. Money was tight as I was plowing everything back into the startup, so I stayed with Mom and Dad until things got going.

Dad was gone most of the time. I hadn't know about it up till then, but Mom and Dad were having major problems. Dad was in senior management, and his company was building a new manufacturing facility in a small town two hundred miles away. He was part of the construction team and had to be there Monday through Friday. When he was home on the weekends, he and Mom were either fussing or seemed distant. Either way, they were not close at all.

Remember I said how several things had to line up? Looking back, I firmly believe there were eight—-count 'em—-eight vital things that fueled Mom and my journey into incest. Take any one of the eight away and I don't think it would have happened.

I've mentioned five already:

1. Me being twenty-five. If I had been in my teens, this would NOT have happened. No way, no how would Mom have come within shouting distance of that.

2. My divorce and love life traumas.

3. My living at home for an extended period.

4. Dad being gone Monday through Friday.

5. Mom's deteriorating marriage.

Those five led to the sixth vital ingredient, which was Mom and me talking Monday through Thursday nights at the supper table. Our talking and relating to each other as adults laid the real foundation for what happened. I was able to talk about my divorce. Mom was a good listener, and I could sense us growing closer each night as we discussed that and other topics.

That closeness and sharing led to the seventh—and I feel most important thing. (When we come to number eight, you will see that it was really seven 'b'.) Mom finally told me that Dad was having an affair with a woman in the town where the new plant was being built. More, that he'd been having affairs for years. As an example of how close Mom and I had become, she told me that she and Dad had not "been intimate" in over a year. That was something she never would have done before.

Anyway, her news about Dad totally blew me away. Just shocked me to my core. I couldn't believe that I'd been so blind and naive all these years. But after a few days to get used to it, remembering incidents in the past, and more after supper talks with Mom, I began to see it.