I must admit I was somewhat conflicted after Bill and I returned from our camping trip with Sarah and Jim. Oh, sure, I knew what Billy was trying to do with me. It started with him in high school, probably really getting serious when he was a senior. I often caught him looking at me in a way a Son shouldn't be looking at his Mother. I was flattered, of course. What woman doesn't enjoy being looked at in a frankly sexual way? But when it's your own son?
Like every other Mother, I immediately started researching Oedipal Complex and I have to say I was confused by the whole thing. Freud seemed to think that boys pass through that phase when they're very young, like five or seven, and then it goes away. Well, my Son was 18, and sometimes the lust in his eyes when he would look at me was so powerful it would take my breath away. Freud never mentioned that.
I found that Mother Son incest was a big interest on the web. If it was supposed to go away by the time a boy entered puberty, and certainly by the time he became an adult, then who were all these people who seemed consumed by it on the internet? I found some erotic story sites and read a couple of the stories. None of them sounded legitimate to me. I couldn't see any Mother succumbing to her Son's advances in such a blatant way as almost all the stories seemed to relate.
There did seem to be an ongoing debate over whether consensual adult Mother Son relationships was good, or bad, for the mental health of the son. Funny. None of the debates seemed to be concerned with the mental health of the Mother. It was all about whether it would stunt the mental growth of the Son and affect his ability to have satisfying relationships with other women. That settled it for me. If doing such a thing with your son would harm him in any way, then how could any woman do it?
The more I read, though, the more confused I got. Some writers seemed to argue that a Mother Son relationship, if between consenting adults, was nothing more than a love affair like any other. That made some sense to me. If a love affair is just that, love, then what stronger love is there than the love of a Mother for her Son?
None of that helped me with Bill. I could have internal debates on a philosophical level about the relative merits of a Mother sexually loving her Son, but I was dealing with the reality of a Son desiring me. As his obvious lust seemed to grow stronger instead of being a passing thing, his overt love for me seemed to wane. He became distant. He wouldn't talk to me and, in the few times he would engage, he was sullen and seemed resentful. By the time he went away to college, we were almost like strangers living together. He seemed a little better during his college years, and I assumed he was getting laid by hot little co-eds, and his lust for me had passed.
Finally he graduated and got a job, about three hours from us. He still seemed resentful, though, and visited only when his Dad and I shamed him into it.
What is a Mother to do? All I wanted was for him to love me. Is that asking too much? I gave him everything. I gave him life. I raised him from a boy to a man. Was it asking too much for him to love me?
So I did what every woman does when she wants to influence and control a man. I started flirting with him. If that's what would influence him, then why not? I wouldn't do anything but lightly flirt, of course. I would remain in control and never let it get out of hand, so what harm could a little flirting do?
When he'd come home, I made a point of letting him see me in my panties and tee shirt at least once each trip. He was funny. He'd try to act like he wasn't looking, but I could tell. I have to admit, it was pretty exciting for me, too. My nipples would be so hard they'd ache. Even though I'm older now and going through the change, God bless it, my panties would practically flood. My husband seemed to be ignorant of what was going on. He wouldn't even give a passing glance.
At first I thought Bill wasn't paying attention, either. I expected - no, hell, I hoped - I'd see an erection from him when I'd do that. Once I went into his bedroom for something when he was laying in bed in the morning, and I made a point of letting him get a good look at my butt. Then I turned around so he could see my nipples and pussy. I would have thought that would cause a tent in his covers, but I didn't see it.
His father, in his ignorance, was pretty cooperative. When Bill would come home on the weekend, I would shoo his father downstairs for his games so Bill and I could watch a movie upstairs. I would sit on one end of the couch while Bill laid down on the loveseat. I noticed, thankfully, that he would lay there with a huge erection, practically during the whole movie. It was cute. I made a point of not staring at it, but I was entranced and, I have to say again, pretty excited. Here I was, sitting with my son watching a movie, and he had a hard on for me. Pretty flattering, if you think about it.
There was no doubt what he wanted. Call me shameless, but there was no doubt I was using it to influence him. At least he was coming home more often now. He remained distant with me, though. It was as if he didn't know what to do, how to proceed. I wanted to tell him, "Look, idiot. I'm your Mother, but I'm also a woman. Treat me as you would treat any woman you wanted to get in bed, and see where it goes." Of course, I had no intention of letting it go that far, but he didn't have to know that.
That all changed one day, and I couldn't put my finger on a reason. He had been to visit his friend, Jim, and when he got home he came into my office and kissed me right on the lips. That was a change. He usually hugged me from about three feet away and if I got a kiss at all, it was just a dry peck on my cheek. I said something to him about it, and he told me he loved me.
Those are the words every Mother wants to hear from her son. I knew he loved me, in his stiff, cold way, because he had to love me. I'm his Mother. But to hear him say it was absolute music to my ears. If he had only known it, I was putty in his hands when he said that.
He seemed to change in other ways, too. He became much more touchy-feely with me. Once he hugged me tight to him, which he had not done before, and I'll swear I could feel his dick rubbing on my upper thigh. Talk about getting a tingle. I was shocked. I mean, that's not really something a Mother should feel, is it? I liked it, but damn.
Then his touches became, well, frankly sexual. He hugged me from behind once, in the kitchen, and the little bastard actually rubbed his dick on my butt. What, did he think I wouldn't be able to feel it? Did he want me to feel it?
Our movie nights started to get a little steamy, and I allowed it. I knew there would be a point where I would have to put a stop to it, but I had not decided yet where that point was going to be. He had tried to give me a little tongue when he kissed me, and I put the stop to that. It's not that I wouldn't love to kiss him like that, but there's the whole "societal norms," and "proper behavior" things going on. What Mother lets her son slip her the tongue when they kiss? Of course I had to shut him down.
I started to let him have a little breast play while we were watching movies. I couldn't help it. He was like a ninth-grader. His hand kept brushing my breast and it was like a high voltage line to my core. I'm older, so my libido is diminishing, right? But not when Bill would touch me. My libido was on overdrive. I wouldn't let him get them out, although I wanted to, because the risk was too great. Hands on the outside? You can pull them back right away, and nobody will see. But blouse open, bra off, and tits out? That's hard to hide if hubby comes tripping in.
Then Sarah called me to ask if we wanted to have a family outing at the trailhead. I thought it was a great idea. I had always been envious of Sarah's relationship with her son, Jim. He was always kind and gentle with her, and clearly loved her. Why couldn't Bill be like that? They were buddies, so why didn't some of Jim rub off on Bill? I thought if we went hiking with them, Bill would see how considerate Jim was with Sarah, and maybe learn a lesson.
Learn a lesson, we did!
I knew my husband wouldn't go. That he would come up with an excuse at the last minute was entirely predictable. Sarah's husband didn't go, either, and that surprised me a little bit. I'm not sure I would have agreed to it if I had known it was just us and the boys. We got to the trailhead, set up our tents, and sat by the campfire drinking wine. I fully expected Sarah and I would share a tent, and you can imagine my shock when Sarah took Jim's hand and led him to their tent. It really put me in an awkward position, because I knew I would have to fend off Bill's advances if we shared a tent.
I don't know how to say this. I've known Sarah for years. Our kids are friends, and our families are tight. Sarah and I talk about everything, and we have for years. I think I'm closer to her than I am to my own sister. I know Sarah. I know when she was thinking about having an affair a couple of years ago, and she knows that I made out in the kitchen with my husband's partner at a Christmas party last year.
So when I heard what were obviously sex sounds coming from Sarah's tent, I was blown away. I don't know if I've ever been hotter in my life. Knowing that Sarah was fucking her own son...well, no wonder they seemed so close. What pissed me off, though, was that she took my options away. I don't know if she did it intentionally, but she sure put me in a corner. How could I push Bill away when he could hear his best friend fucking his own Mother?
Maybe I would have come to the same decision on my own. But she took that decision away from me.
