Chapter 1

All the lawyers were in court and would be for the rest of the afternoon. The paralegals were busy with assignments and the few secretaries they employed were all consumed with various tasks that would keep them busy for the rest of the day. Her assignment board was current and she had completed all the tasks she needed to as office manager.

"Ken?" she said to the receptionist. "I'm going to take some personal time. Would you log it please?"

"Sure thing, Jen," Kenny, the receptionist answered.

She drove home, removed her skirt and blouse, slipped a pair of jeans on before pulling a light pink polo shirt down and over her white lace, bra. She stepped into a pair of juaraches, Mexican sandals purchased years ago on vacation. She washed Danny's dishes from breakfast, dried and put them back in the cupboard. She placed the silverware in the drawer. She glanced at the kitchen clock: 2:50. She decided she had more than enough time before Danny, her son, arrived home from school.

In her bedroom, she crawled on hand and knee across the king bed and fished the "New Olympic Reader" from the night stand. She went back to the other side of the bed and closed the bedroom door. She lowered her jeans until they were around her ankles, then thought, "Screw it," and stepped completely out of her sandals, jeans and panties. She reached behind her back and deftly unhooked her bra before lying on the bed and picking up the book of erotic stories.

Her copy of the "Reader" was well-worn, tattered and dog-eared. Over the ensuing years, since high school, she read every story in the "Reader". At least twice. From them, she culled five or six stories and four or five chapters into those she considered her "favorites", or in another way, those that would make her the most excited sexually in the least amount of time.

All the stories she chose and all the chapters she frequently read had but one theme: sex by mothers with sons. For the last two years, her son had left childhood and entered the teen-age world. He was fourteen, soon to be fifteen, wicked smart beyond his years, and more mature than any boy his age had any right or reason to be. She and her husband debated long and hard when the school offered an opportunity to skip first one grade, then two years later, another. As a result, most of his classmates and friends from school were two or three years older than he was, and the girls he seemed to like most were older also.

Jenny wondered, from time to time if he was growing up too quickly.

She supposed it could be said, and rightfully so, she was predisposed to the possibility of a sexual relationship of one sort, or another, with her son. It was clear stories of sex between mothers and sons were the most stimulating to her whenever she masturbated and needed some external stimulus to hasten her orgasm. She read other erotic stories, too, but she was always drawn back to moms and sons and Jenny made it a point to read a fairly large number of them over the years since graduating high school.

However, given her predilection for incest stories, pedophilia stories did little or, more accurately, nothing for her. Actually, they didn't interest her at all and the usual signs of excitement were never present whenever she read one. She was quick to move onto another story whenever she encountered sex with true children. Although she tried to refrain from judgment of others for their taste in masturbatory reading materials, she could never move past the ability of small children to render true consent. Three— five— seven year olds? She thought not.

On the other hand, teenage boys, especially her son, were of special interest to her. Kids of that age were certainly able to consent to sex with an informed opinion. Especially the intelligent and "mature beyond their years" kids, like her son. She certainly had been able to agree to consensual sex with her brother when she was fourteen, her son's age.

Jenny didn't know if the thoughts of sex with her son were a result of the stories she read or whether they originated from an earlier time. She didn't know, but she certainly felt no guilt when she thought of her son in a sexual manner. Simply, she saw nothing unusual about a mother having an attraction for her son and if that attraction was mutual, then she certainly was not going to feel guilty about the matter. The moral question, the right or wrong, of incest never entered her mind however the legal question of adults having sex with teens was a bit more problematic.

For her brother, and her, the attraction to teenage sex was never borne of a sense of being naughty (well, maybe a little) or outright wickedness between them. Merely, it was started by an overdeveloped sense of sexual curiosity which, at the time, they both shared. Later, on the very few occasions she and her brother ever talked about the things they did in high school, they agreed neither of them was any the worse for the experiences they shared.

She and her brother masturbated together fairly regularly when she was fourteen and he was fifteen, especially after school when their parents were at work. She even stroked or sucked him until he ejaculated on her small, budding breasts from time to time and he returned the favor whenever she asked him to touch her vagina or clitoris. They played with each other's bottoms, too, exploring every orifice and appendage below the waist.

He taught her to give great oral sex and she reciprocated teaching him the same skills between a woman's legs. Alas, it didn't last long. When her brother found his first "real" girlfriend at sixteen, their mutual masturbation and oral sex started to come to an end. Jenny used to tease her brother that the more sex he had with his girl friend, the less he was having with his own sister. By the time the mutual caressing and oral sex between brother and sister came to a complete stop, Jenny was dating too and, as a result, was never at a loss to find a cock to suck if she wanted one although finding someone to return the favor between her legs was a bit more difficult and those that did cooperate didn't have a clue about how to perform cunnilingus on a girl.

Was what she and her brother did incestuous? Of course, it was the definition of incest: family members so close as to be forbidden to marry. Was it illegal? It probably was although she'd never bothered to research the matter in the large law library at work.

The one thing she was absolutely certain of was that she and her brother were much more intelligent and accepting of sex from the experience. They were both gifted and talented lovers, able to provide great pleasure to their respective spouses.

And further, she and her brother didn't seem to be any the worse for wear from the experiences they shared in dark bedrooms after school. Both brother and sister were married to a great spouse and each of them had kids. And, although neither of them spoke very often of their sex in high school after it came to an end, it wasn't out of some misguided sense of self-condemnatory guilt; it just wasn't important anymore. Quite simply: they outgrew it.

Jenny began masturbating while reading "My Mother Taught Me" from the "Reader". Her vagina lubricated as easily as it always had and her nipples took almost no time to shrink and become firm inside her small, dark aureoles.

The story was one she had read many times before. It described how a mother taught her fourteen year old son about sex of every kind in every position and it never failed to conjure thoughts of teaching her beautiful son, Danny, about sex and love so that when he was ready for his first girl friend, at least he would know what he was doing. There were other things she wanted him to know, also. Among the most important of them was openness and respect. Danny was already exceedingly polite with adults and he seemed to have a natural affinity for making friends easily, both boys and girls. Even though he was younger than most of his friends, he was exceedingly popular with everyone he seemed to know.

Jenny held the big, heavy book in one hand and softly fluttered her fingertips up and down her body, from breast to vagina and back in anticipation of clitoral stimulation. She spent extra moments barely brushing the dark, soft, curly short hair at her vagina. She had regular manicures and pedicures and she knew the current style among her friends, and even their teen-age daughters, was to be completely bare down there but as yet, she had not succumbed to fashion although she did trim the hair between her legs regularly and bikini waxes were a necessity. She relished the feeling of barely brushing her pubes with a finger or two or even the flat of her hand. She shuddered at the sensation as she lightly brushed the dark, perfectly formed "v" above her vagina.

At last, she lay the book aside, closed her eyes and began in earnest. She alternately pinched her nipples and stroked her engorged clitoris with a fingertip, dipping inside her labia and into her vaginal canal before returning to the tight little nub of nerves she sometimes referred to as her "fuck-button." She varied the intensity with which she touched herself.

She was thinking of her son. It was Danny's finger inside her, teasing the walls of her sheath with a fingertip. It was her son inserting it completely to feel deeply inside her very moist scabbard. It was Danny, using his thumb and forefinger to roll and pinch her hard nipple. The tongue she imagined kissing and licking her body was her son's.

She was approaching ecstasy.

On his way home from school, Daniel could see his mom's car in the driveway a block away and he immediately wondered if she was sick. She was almost never home at three o'clock in the afternoon. He reflected and decided he was unable to remember any time his mother was ever home this early from work except on special occasions, like doctor or dentist appointments.

He and John, his friend and neighbor, continued a leisurely pace and after reaching Daniel's house and bidding each other good-bye, he softly opened the front door, careful not to let the storm door slam. He put his light jacket on the hook in the entryway and walked the short distance to his mother's bedroom. If his mother was sick and sleeping, he didn't want to wake her so, when he got to her bedroom door, he turned the knob on her bedroom door very slowly and silently. Then, he pushed it it.

"Holy crap!" he thought when he saw his mother.

His mother's bed faced away from the door and as a result he couldn't see her face for the large lamp on the nightstand but he could see everything else. His mother's breasts were smallish, but perfectly formed and firm and although this was not the first time had seen them, he thought they were the most beautiful in the world. This wasn't surprising as they were the only pair of breasts he had seen in person up to that time in his relatively short life.

Except for the occasional and accidental flash of dark hair between her legs when he happened to see his mom pull on panties or a bathing suit bottom, this was the first time he had ever seen his mother's vaginal area completely bare and now he was looking at the perfectly trimmed triangle of dark hair between her legs. Her breathing sounded funny to him, ragged and uneven, as her long fingers danced between her legs.

His mother's legs were splayed, her knees slightly bent, granting obscenely deep access to her private parts and he knew that this sight was one he would never forget. His mother was masturbating and the sight thrilled him! It was also the sight, he was sure, many of his friends imagined behind his back, for she was surely the milf they masturbated to each night before they went to sleep.

Danny heard her whisper something over and over, whimpering, as she moved her fingers in and out of her vagina but he couldn't make out the exact words.

Daniel's penis stiffened in his slacks. He had admired his mother's collective physical charms many times over the years although he couldn't remember ever entertaining very many, if any, sexual fantasies about her until he turned eleven or twelve years old. And even then, he didn't think about fucking her or making love to her; he just wondered what she looked like when she was completely naked. He wondered what her vagina looked like up close and personal and he especially wanted to feel her breasts and to, perhaps, kiss and maybe suck on them as he had as a child.

Daniel was no different from any other young boy whose hormones erupted a year or two before; he was unable to walk away from the sight of a beautiful woman, even his mother, naked before him. His curiosity overwhelmed him and he found himself mesmerized by the sight, unwilling and unable to move from the doorway. He voyeuristically watched her, listened to her increasingly irregular breathing, and realized his mother was certainly very close to a "warm fuzzy", when the phone next to the bed rang loudly, shaking them both.

Thinking the call might be from work, she rolled quickly to her left, reaching for the telephone. She was more than a little startled to see her son's legs in the open doorway. She looked up to see her son's "deer in the headlights" look and heard him say, "I'm sorry, Mom."

"Okay, then," she said ruefully, dragging the words out, as she answered the phone. "It's for you," she said. She held the receiver out to her son as she rolled back to her right, burying her face in one of the large down-filled pillows on the bed.

Daniel now had a view of his mother's naked, round, tight bottom. He told the person on the phone he would call them back and then, to his embarrassed mother, he said "I'm leaving now, Mom," as he pulled the bedroom door closed.

Jenny raised her face from the pillow. "Well, thank you for that," she said. Then, she added, "GO!" she said, loud enough to be heard through the closed door.

In his room, Danny began pacing and quietly admonishing himself. "Jeez, Danny, how could you be so stupid? Moron!" He didn't know if he was stupid because he was caught or whether he was stupid for standing as long as he did at his mother's door. He sat on the edge of his bed. Nonetheless, he could not forget the sight of his mother, fingers between her legs, writhing, moaning and whimpering as he watched. The thought kept him hard.

Jenny was still on the bed, face down. "Well," she thought, "that was interesting," as she remembered what just happened. She had been thinking about starting to expose herself to her son a little more than usual in an attempt to see what his reaction would be, but this afternoon that plan clearly went awry. There could be little, or nothing, left to Danny's imagination and she wondered if he heard her whispering "Danny, Danny, Danny..." over and over again as she fantasized about her son's hard penis slamming into and out of her.

A few long minutes after her son left the doorway, Jenny rolled off the bed. She muttered a 'jeez, louise' under her breath, and then pulled her panties and jeans back on and up around her slim waist. She zipped up, pulled the polo shirt over her bare breasts, and stepped back into the juaraches.

She softly knocked twice on her son's bedroom door and then, without waiting to open it, leaned inside. Silently, she crooked one finger and motioned her son to follow her to the kitchen; she motioned to a chair at the table, indicating she wanted him to sit.

She continued on, through the tiny kitchen and into the den. She retrieved a bottle of VSOP brandy from the top shelf in the closet and when she returned to the kitchen, she poured her son an ice tea before pouring herself a rather large amount of brandy over a few ice cubes. She seated herself across from her son and took a fairly long sip of her brandy.

He waited for what might be an onslaught.

She stared at him for a couple long seconds, his shame evident. Then she said, deadpan, "So, how was your day?"

Daniel couldn't help but laugh out loud with deep relief. It was the same question she asked almost every night before dinner and he knew right away she wasn't angry with him. He had a hard time managing a straight face, but he conversationally answered, "Oh, I don't know. I guess it was pretty good. How was yours?"

"Oh, you know, pretty average morning" she began thoughtfully, "but then, my afternoon became really, really exciting."

Her son lowered his head, attempting to suppress laughing again. When he looked up, he said "I'm sorry, Mom. I'm really, really sorry." He couldn't help but chuckle.

"Well, thank you for that. Apology accepted. But let me ask this: How long were you at the door?"

"I don't know. Not long. A minute, maybe."

Jenny cocked an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Okay, a little longer. When I got there, you had one hand—"

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa, Boy-o," she started, using her favorite pet name for him. "Spare me the play by play, if you don't mind. If you remember, I was a featured player in that game."

"Okay. Mom, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you. It's nothing to be ashamed of—"

"Hold on" his Mom interrupted, laughing, "are you going to give me the 'nothing to be ashamed of', 'everyone does it', 'perfectly normal speech'? Because I think that's my job, Danny, not yours."

Nodding his head in agreement, he answered "Absolutely. It's your job. Not mine."

Jenny stared upward, toward the ceiling as if contemplating the matter with great seriousness. "The only thing is, Danny," she said earnestly, "most mothers don't masturbate with a SON watching."

They both laughed.

"I get it, Mom." he said contritely. "What can I do to make it up to you?"

Jenny stood, fetched the brandy from the counter and poured herself another drink.

"Don't worry about it, Kiddo", she finally said. "You owe me one. You'll think of something."

"So I'm forgiven?" he asked.

Jenny stared into her son's eyes without speaking. "Wow," she thought. "What a question."

It was a few seconds before she spoke. "I'm not sure forgiveness is the right thing to ask for," she began, finally, her voice soft and serious.

"Why not," he asked.

Jenny paused before answering. "Well, I'm not certain you really did anything wrong," she answered. "I mean, before I came to your room to get you, I tried to remember when I was your age. I think I would have done the same thing if I found my father doing what I was doing this afternoon."

"Really?" Danny asked, a tinge of disbelief in his voice.

His mother paused a bit.

"Yeah," she said thoughtfully. "You know. Hormones. Puberty. Curiosity. Those are surely the deadly triumverate. And," she continued, "I don't doubt for a minute I would have watched. Yeah," she nodded affirmatively, confessing. "I definitely would have watched. No doubt about it."

"Wow," was all he could say.

They drank silently for a minute enjoying each other's presence.

His mother was nearly through her second drink when she asked, "What do you want for dinner? Burgers? Or chili?"

"Both."

"I can do that," she laughed.

"I'm going to go shower," he announced as he rose from the table.

Jenny stood too. "Give me a hug," she said.

They stood at the table and hugged. It was a different hug than the ones they shared before. It was a little tighter, a little closer, and it lasted just a bit longer than any hug he remembered. His mother's groin was noticeably closer to his, too.

It was nice and it felt good.

To both of them.

Jenny molded the burger patties into the proper size for Kaiser rolls, sprayed the broiler pan, and placed the paddies on it. She set the buns on the counter and started the leftover chili in a small sauce pan on very low heat. She assembled a small dinner salad which she knew Danny would barely touch. That was okay. She'd eat what he didn't.

She set the table, placed the salads in the fridge, covered the chili with the pan cover slightly cocked, and poured herself another drink. She added a bit of water to this one, diluting it a bit.

As she sat next to the stove, sipping her third drink, she leafed through a Vanity Fair seeking an article she had not yet read, but found herself stopping at ads that showed young boys in Calvin Klein underwear and although she thought the boys were to be of an age before they could pose like this, she knew they couldn't be.

They were a lot of boys like her son. They were firm and hard and gorgeous with blank looks, directed into the camera lens. The girls in the pictures were best described as drugged out sluts, but the boys were angelic, even beautiful.

Inadvertently and subconsciously, she began to replace the models in the pictures with her son, Danny. His face was certainly to the standards of VF— which was to say he was beyond cute and well into handsome while retaining a sexy, young boy look. From what his mother observed, his body was at least as good and in some cases much better than the models that were being paid stratospheric sums of money to have a picture taken. She focused too, on the boys' crotches. She hadn't seen her son's naked cock in years, sometime around the time he turned six or seven, but she imagined Danny would be as large, even larger, than the boys in the ads. If his father was any indication, he would be larger than the boys she was comparing him to.

While he was in the shower, Danny developed a thought that concerned his mother. He wasn't thinking of sex with her: he was contemplating what he could do to repay her for his incursion into her privacy. Then, it hit him and he knew what he was going to do.

He was greatly relieved his mother wasn't angry, but then he should have known she wouldn't be. Anger was not a feeling to be found in his mother's emotional repertoire. Frustration? Sure. Exasperation? From time to time, but he couldn't remember his mother being 'furious' or even angry in all his time on planet Earth.

He turned the water off, stepped from the shower, dried himself with the generous bath sheet and looked into the large mirror above the vanity.

As he assessed his body he decided he wasn't that half bad. Although he was fourteen he was almost as tall or taller than most of his classmates and he was pretty well developed. His chest was fairly strong, albeit with only a small patch of adult chest hair. His abdomen wasn't of "six-pack" quality, but it was firm, even hard. His hips were narrow and manly and his legs were well-developed from the gym, cross-country track in the spring, water skiing in the summer and snowboarding each winter. He did a vanity flex and was satisfied. His arms seemed to have muscular bumps where they were supposed to be and his neck muscles actually sloped a little away from his neck. Well, no, they didn't, but he didn't care.

Although he had been contemplating what he was about to do, his circumcised penis hung flaccidly between his legs. Soft, it was no more than two or two and a half inches or so, a boy's penis, but this didn't bother him. He compared favorably with other boys he saw in the shower every other day at school. And, anyway, he knew from experience that when he was sexually excited, his penis would grow to be close to four or five inches and it would become, however so slightly, larger around.

His pubic hair, although fairly sparse, was long and soft and framed his penis nicely. There was a very thin trace of hair that went from his crotch to his belly button. His scrotum was very small and tight, no larger than a plum. Well, a fairly large plum but, nonetheless, a plum.