To my readers,
I apologize for my long absence from Literotica. I recently edited my truest story entitled "Breakfast, Lunch, and Supper", and encourage you to give it a read. I hope you'll enjoy this as much as those I've published previously.
I'll share three things before I begin. Firstly, I don't believe my son knows that I've shared any of these memories with you (Though I wouldn't be surprised if he stumbled onto some of these). Secondly, I try to use different names and descriptions in each story in order to protect the privacy of my family. I'll leave the choice of which names and descriptions are true to my readers. Finally, every story that I publish contains both truth and embellishment. My son and I have acted out many fantasies, and these stories are written to portray those fantasies in a way that makes them seem as if the first encounter.
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It's difficult to say what exactly it was that possessed me to do something so utterly sinful. Depravity has unraveling effects on a middle aged woman's sanity, so I often find the answer to this question to be that my patience had simply run out. Other times I let my guilt take the wheel and I believe that I did it simply because his cock was the biggest I had ever seen in person, but I can usually dismiss this explanation because I have never simply given myself to whatever man could prove that he was well endowed. My husband is proof of this... we'll just say that his biggest quality was his personality when we were younger. I'm certainly no slut... or rather I should say I never viewed myself as one until I seduced my own son. I think if other people knew my story, they would say it was a combination of many things that made me do it. Depravity, his cock, the fact that it was unthinkable and forbidden, the fact that my son wanted so badly for me to be happy, the fact that my husband was blind, half deaf, and could sit in the very room while our only child fucked me and be completely oblivious to it... I'm getting ahead of myself though. I should really start with some background. I just get so excited when I think about how it all started that I can hardly think clearly.
My name is Christina. I was 37 years old when this all happened, and it had been a rough few years, but I had managed to keep my beauty a priority. In hindsight, I think that I became even more focused on vanity after my husband lost his sight and mobility. I feel guilty about it, but I wanted men to look at me. I wanted to be seen and wanted.
I have long, wavy, bright red hair that falls just past my shoulders. I have pale skin that nearly looks stark white in photos, which is common of redheads of course. I keep my body in excellent shape with Zumba classes at my local gym and a healthy diet that I've always insisted on for my sake as well as my husband's. To be crude, and I plan to be quite crude, my ass is big enough to draw wanton stares from most men and tight enough to tell you through a pair of jeans that you won't find any wrinkles or lumps beneath. I'm not ashamed to admit that I have 36D breasts that never really shrunk after I gave birth. I always wear ruby red lipstick. I paint my long nails to match. I was gifted with bright green eyes, and you better believe that I wax... Everything. I must sound like a porn star to readers, but there's no sense in stating my imperfections here where fantasies are born and shared. Like I said, I love to be wanted.
I'm a married mother of a single son. My husband's name is Gary, and he was so handsome when we first met. I used to love telling the story of how we fell in love and how charming he used to be, but now the story just bores me and I can't even bring myself to waste time typing it. He was tall and thin with dark brown hair and the most adorable smile. He owned an enormously successful business that allowed us to live comfortably and for me to not have to work, which was sometimes boring, but I found hobbies. His charm came to an end one winter with a car crash that stole his sight,his hearing in one ear, and broke his back. In the end he lost his ability to walk... among other things. I was so panicked when it happened that I remember nearly hyperventilating when they told me. Can you imagine building what you viewed to be a perfect life with someone, and then to have them ripped from you in an instant as though justice were nothing but a fairy tale? I bet many of you can. That's how I felt when it happened. It was like my heart was being ripped from my chest. You spend so many years with someone that you forget how much you love them until you think they might be dead... But he didn't die. His fate was worse than death, or so he says. After the accident he was never the same. He became bitter and angry, completely ungrateful for any help, but too helpless to refuse it. I struggled for a long time to hold on to our love, but he had lost all interest in romance and became a living incarnation of apathy. I can't blame him... but I can't blame myself either for falling out of love with him. He didn't have a choice about the accident or how it damaged him, but it was his choice to give up on life. We ended up selling his business for enough for us to live the rest of our lives without need to worry about finances. I would have worked, but nothing I could do would pay for the care we would need to provide Gary while I was gone, so I stayed home with him.
I apologize; I haven't even introduced our son. It's difficult to write about Gary without telling the sad story of how our love died... I think I would seem much more of a monster if I didn't share that though. My son's name is Thomas. His friends call him Tom, and his father and I call him Tommy. He was 15 when Gary had his accident. I think he struggled with it emotionally as much as I did. I remember now how we held each other crying in the waiting room as the hospital fought for Gary's life. We were so relieved when they said he would make it, and so shocked when they told us the price he paid to live. It took us many months to really grasp the depth of how his condition would change our lives. It's sad to describe, but I've learned to accept how things turned out now. I've learned to look at things positively and to be grateful for everything that I have. I also would have never seduced our child three years later if it hadn't happened. Tommy has his father's dark brown hair and my green eyes. His complexion is closer to his father's than mine, but you can certainly see the resemblance he has to both of us. He is an athletic young man, and even when he was 15 he was popular with the girls. Gary and I made him stay active when he was younger and he eventually enjoyed sports without our forcing him to do them. After the accident though Tommy stopped playing sports at school altogether. He stayed in shape by lifting weights and mountain biking, but he wasn't nearly as interested in anything that involved a team. I felt so terrible for him back then for how much stress he must have been under with his father's bitterness and my sadness. In losing his father he had lost his role model and his ambition to let others into his life. He started wearing a lot of black and I think the reason he lifted weights so much was as much to vent as it was to get out of the house. I have to say though that the more Gary pushed me away, the more I noticed how well Tommy was filling out.
It was well after Tommy's eighteenth birthday that I had really started to become attracted enough to him to feel guilty about it. As the months passed, however, my guilt paled to my lust and I started to want him enough to masturbate to the thought of him and to slowly push on the boundaries of our relationship... I certainly crossed the line when he turned 19 though... It was as though somehow him being a legal adult made it 'okay'. Of course I knew better, but that was how I justified my fantasies about him... and what I did.
This all happened over the course of a year. It was all very subtle at first, but I urge you to be patient. I would sneak peeks of him, I would give him innocent little shows... Well, let's start from the beginning.
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It was a few days after Tommy's eighteenth birthday. I stood over the kitchen sink, quietly washing the dishes from breakfast. I still wore my robe and my hair was a bit of a mess. I had just helped Gary out of the shower and into the kitchen where he sat listening to the kitchen television. Tommy had just left for school and this was typically when Gary would start to get grumpy... well, grumpier.
"Christine", he barked, "change the channel to ESPN! I don't want to listen to the news anymore, it's just more garbage."
I sighed and reached for the remote, changing the channel for him before finishing the dishes.
This is how our days went on. I would cater to his every need in the morning while Tommy went to school. I would then go to the gym to get away for a bit and to do my daily Zumba class. When Tommy got home, he almost immediately left for the gym to lift weights. Tommy hated to leave me with his father, but he hated being home with him even more. He had learned to dislike his father as much as I did for how he made us feel, as if we were the ones who ruined his life.
Tommy and I had become very close since the accident. We would often stay up and talk about our days after Gary bored himself to sleep and he would always say something like "Hang in there mom, things will get better somehow.". It was always comforting, and I somehow believed him.
My view of my son changed quite suddenly one evening. I don't quite know why it happened so abruptly, as though I hadn't had opportunities to see him this way earlier. I think it must have been because earlier that day I had been thinking about how responsible he was becoming, and how he would be moving out soon. He came home from the gym around six. I was preparing supper when I heard him come into the kitchen over the television, which was as loud as ever.
"Smells great mom", Tommy said as he walked in. "Pot roast?"
I turned to him with a ruby red smile, my shiny red hair twirling outward and then falling to rest on one shoulder, and held back a gasp when I noticed my muscular son standing shirtless in the doorway. I glanced for a moment at his six pack abs and then quickly back up to his eyes, scolding myself mentally for checking out my son. "Um, You guessed it sweetie. Your father's request tonight. How was the gym?"
He frowned when I mentioned his father, and then stretched his arms outward. I guiltily admired his muscles as they tightened with the movement, which is when I felt a hotness between my thighs and in my cheeks "Really good", he said, "I did my chest today"
"I can tell", I laughed awkwardly, and then said "Maybe you should go put a shirt on so you can join us for supper muscle man." and so that I could settle down!
