My son A.J. has inherited his mother’s dark hair and cobalt eyes. His lean frame has about 4% body fat. Those strong shoulders roll like a big cat’s. And his deep chest is solid and thick when I playfully thump my hand against him. And at times when I pretend to shiver or feel cold, his sinewy arms wrap me like a strong, sexy blanket. I want him and I need him.
One day I was watching and waiting at the kitchen door when he climbed out of the pool. I scampered outside and sat down on the chaise just as he did and began to towel him off. I briskly rubbed his crew-cut hair and gently dried and caressed his back and arms, taking extra time to allow my big tits to brush against him. Then I wrap my arms around his warm, tight body, all the while whispering how strong and attractive he is. I love how the shadows play on his muscular back and the thin stream of water runs down the small of his back. I’m trying to keep a mother’s tone but dropping sexual innuendos that anyone would notice.
He doesn’t respond in any overt way; but he leans back against my chest flattening my perky nipples and playfully squeezes and rubs my thighs while his breathing grows deeper and quicker. Does he feel it too? Does he want it?
I feel my insides start to shake and my pussy getting warm and tingly. My fingers trembled on his skin and my heart rate raced. I couldn’t do it. I had to run before I completely embarrassed and humiliated myself. With just a fast word about leaving boiling water on the stove, I dashed into the house and ducked into an icy cold shower. I had to come to grips with this dilemma.
With my head under the spray, my thinking cleared but the vision remained. I know it’s incest. I know it’s the taboo that all mothers fear. And I know all about Oedipus. But how do you stop that warm, misty feeling that starts so deep inside and threatens to overwhelm your senses? I turned on the hot water and plugged the drain. Soon I was soaking in the warm tub, my legs spread and one hand working feverishly on my clitoris while the other rubbed and tugged at my nipples. “A.J. if you only knew how close I came to sucking your cock and begging you to fuck me.”
My orgasms were so thunderous I was afraid he would hear me moaning or feel the walls shaking. I was in there for well over an hour and when I passed him in the hall, it must have been obvious that I did not just have a relaxing bath. Thank goodness, he said he was going out. I hopped into my bed and recreated the entire scenario. I can’t stop toying with my clit or quit imagining myself a slave to his desires. I want him to take me and I’m beginning to think I can no longer fight this sensation. “How slutty can I possibly be?” If given the opportunity I believe I may do something crazy. Could I really give in to these deviant dreams?
He came home from a practice meet once walking on crutches with an athletic bandage taped from his ankle to his thigh. A trainer termed it a severe muscle-pull and suggested bed-rest with heat and massage. My instincts kicked-in. I prepared soup and hot tea so he could take his pain killers and muscle relaxers. Then I unwrapped the rubberized bandage and applied a warming balm and gently kneaded his sore muscles. He moaned dreamily while his body loosened and his eyes drifted shut. He fell asleep with me rubbing his steely thighs and feeling the warmth of this potent, young force. A tempest was brewing from down deep.