Kimberlys Sin

Introduction - setting the context:

My name is Kimberly. I am 39 years old, attractive and well educated. In most ways, I am quite conservative, both in values and politics. Prior to this summer, I would have considered myself somewhat prudish. I was certainly not liberated sexually. No one who knows me would have predicted that I could succumb to the temptation that I did.

At 39 years old, I truly do look considerably younger than my age. I have essentially the same figure I had while in college, twenty years ago. I am 5 foot 6 inches tall, and weigh 117 pounds. My breasts are small, 34B cup, but still firm and perky with prominent nipples. I have blond hair, and large green eyes. Objectively speaking, I am still a very attractive woman. I have been told on more than one occasion that I resemble Meg Ryan.

My ex-husband and I divorced over 4 years ago after a somewhat rocky 16 year marriage. He wanted the divorce more than I did, although I realize we did not belong together. We were different people, and wanted different things from life. Nonetheless, I did miss him.

Yes, I admit it, I was lonely and horny most of the time. Yet, for some strange reason, I choose not to date. I did not get asked out very often. Although I am an attractive woman, I seem to be sending out signals that I am not available or interested. I guess I have never fully gotten past my divorce. That is my misfortune.

Prior to my divorce, Ben's father was the only man with whom I had intercourse. Since the divorce, I rarely dated, and did not have an active social life. My sex life consisted of somewhat feeble attempts at masturbation, which were only marginally successful. Prior to my son, Ben, returning home this summer, I had only slept with three men since my divorce (over a four year period), and did not achieve orgasm with any of them. I never invited any of these men to my bed for a second time.

That is correct, in a four plus year period, I have had intercourse only three times, and none of these times was enjoyable enough for me to give the man a second chance. Mine was a sad and lonely existence.

Certainly my loneliness, and my need for some level of intimacy, contributed to the very poor decisions I made during the summer of 2013. However, I am not making excuses. I am merely stating that had I not been so lonely, and had I not been thrown into a very unforeseen and unique situation with my only son, I never would have succumbed to the temptations as I did.

But despite my loneliness, I never would have imagined, or predicted, that I could engage in the deviant and perverse actions that I am going to share with you. I did not plan on these events. If I could go back and 'un-do' them, I would. I am truly embarrassed and ashamed that I allowed these things to happen.

I do not expect you to understand my level of guilt, or to absolve me of my sins. However, I think you should know that I write this story as much for me as for you. I hope that by writing this, I will gain some level of insight into myself, and gain some understanding about what happened this past summer, and why. And perhaps with that understanding, I can begin to forgive myself, and start the healing process.

I hope you (the reader) do not think that I am a pariah. I really am not. I really am a good and decent person who loves her son, and wants only the best for him. But I understand how you might see me in that light; I understand how you may view me as a monster of sorts. In fact, if I were reading about someone else committing the sins I have committed, I would view them as a monster myself. So I guess I deserve your scorn and disdain.

I ask that you try to withhold judgment until you have read my story and have tried to understand how a good person can make horrific mistakes.

Summer, 2013

It was June, 2013 when my only son, Ben, returned from college for summer break. He was 18 and had just completed his freshman year in petroleum engineering at LSU in Baton Rouge.

As I said, Ben's father and I had divorced several years earlier. So, since Ben left for his freshman year at college, I have lived alone. I missed Ben terribly while he was away.

My son was the center of my universe. Ben had lined up a summer job working offshore for a drilling contractor, and he would be working a 'rotating' schedule, meaning he would be offshore for seven straight days and then be off for seven straight days. It also meant he would be home with me for seven straight days every other week.

He was due to start his first hitch offshore about a week after he got home. He would have a week of relaxing around the house before having to start work. The first week before Ben started working offshore, would soon prove to be an eventful week. This first week home would have a profound impact on Ben's and my lives. It is a week I will never forget. It will haunt me to my grave.

So here my story, and my saga being...

Witnessing my son masturbating:

Late one evening during the first week Ben was home, I awoke around 1:00 a.m. I was thirsty. So I decided to go down stairs for a drink of water or juice. I typically slept in my panties and a t-shirt. Tonight was no exception.

As I descended the steps, I could see the glow from the computer screen in the corner of the den down stairs. The soft green glow illuminated the room, indicating that Ben was still awake.

I looked into the den through the closed glass doors. I could see that Ben had only his boxers on and was wearing headphones. He was sitting at the computer desk with his back towards me as I glanced in on him.

I was surprised to see him gently stroking his erect penis while he watched pornographic video clips on the computer. I say 'gently stroking' because he seemed to be slowly teasing himself rather than furiously pumping his erection. I had never actually witnessed a man masturbating before that moment. It intrigued me.

I should have quietly turned and retreated upstairs and left him alone to masturbate in private; however, I was completely mesmerized by the sight of my son masturbating. I froze in my tracks. I could see Ben's chest was bare; he was wearing only his boxers. His erection was standing straight up through the slit in the front of his underwear.

I moved slightly so that I was standing off to the edge of the closed glass door leading into the den. From this vantage point I was able to catch a partial 'side view' of Ben as he slowly stroked his erection with his right hand.

Even from my partially obstructed view, I could see that Ben had an impressive penis. I found myself getting aroused at this sight, and without thinking, I reached down and touched myself while standing in the shadows in the hallway, watching my son pump his fist. Initially, I touched myself through the cotton material of my panties. I was surprised to feel the wetness seeping out of me, making the gusset of my panties very damp.

'Touching myself' was almost an involuntary reaction on my part rather than a conscious decision to join Ben in this endeavor of his. I just touched myself without thinking about it. I stopped just long enough to slide my fingers inside the waist band of my panties, allowing my fingers to contact my erect clitoris directly, skin-to-skin.

I do not know exactly how long I stood there in the dark, squatting slightly and silently stimulating myself to the unexpected sight of Ben's masturbation session, but I assume it was several minutes. I do not know what made him do so, perhaps he saw my movement reflected on the computer screen or perhaps a shadow moving caught his eye, but suddenly and without any warning Ben turned around and saw me standing in the darkened hallway with my night shirt hiked up around my waist and my hand in my panties stoking myself.

"What the hell?" he exclaimed as he quickly pulled the headphones from his ears.

I quickly withdrew my hand, tried to straighten my night shirt, and explained that I was only coming down for a drink. I apologized for disturbing him as I quickly scurried into the kitchen.

As I fled to the kitchen, I could feel a flush burning into my cheeks and neck as my embarrassment at being caught in my voyeuristic activities caused me to turn a bright crimson. My pulse was racing as I quickly thought what to do next.

Rather than being embarrassed about being caught masturbating, my son wanted to confront me about my behavior and my actions. Ben was not the least bit reticent about what I had witnessed him doing.

He got up and followed me into the kitchen, with his chest bare, wearing only his boxers shorts. He was still sporting an enormous boner. I struggled not to look at the huge tent in his underpants, but the huge erection seemed to command me to look at it repeatedly.

"What were you doing back there in the hallway?" he asked, with an authoritative tone that was out of place for this particular situation.

"Nothing. Nothing at all. I was just coming down for a drink. I am sorry I disturbed you." I repeated. There was a noticeable nervousness in my voice. I was obviously embarrassed and uneasy. Ben seemed to enjoy my humiliation and discomfort.

My son was assertive in confronting me. On the other hand, I was simply trying to retreat from this embarrassing, no actually humiliating, encounter.

I know it sound absurd that the child was questioning the parent about masturbation in an inappropriate place, but I swear, that is what happened. I did not know how to react or what to say. Somehow, he seemed to have the upper hand.

Ben stood there in the doorway, essentially blocking my path to exit the kitchen. He was clearly unconcerned with concealing the very obvious the pole was that was making a huge tent in the front of his boxers. With a huge grin he said simply, "It didn't look to me like you were 'doing nothing' back there."

I was mortified. I blushed even deeper. And the smirk on his face clearly showed that he relished my embarrassment, which served to embarrass me further.

Finally, after an awkward moment of silence, I pushed past him and headed upstairs saying simply, "Well I was just coming down stairs for a drink. There is nothing more to it."

And tried hard to maintain eye contact as I pushed past him. I tried not to stare at my son's erection pointing straight up at me; but I know Ben caught my quick glances at his erection, and this embarrassed me even more.

And for some unexplainable reason, my embarrassment seemed to arouse both of us!

I heard him chuckle "OK, if that's your story" as I ascended the stairs to my bedroom. I had not even gotten the drink I originally came down stairs for.

I shut my bedroom door, my heart pounding and my head spinning. I was not exactly sure what just happened, but the entire encounter made me dizzy and confused.

I did not sleep much that night. I was clearly shaken by this encounter with my son. But I was also aroused. But I did not touch myself further that evening. The thought of masturbating to the memory of my son's large erection was simply out of the question. I was ashamed at my actions and I was shocked at my reaction to the sights I had witnessed.

After tossing and turning for several hours, I finally fell back asleep only to be awakened by my alarm at 5:00 a.m. I showered, dressed and headed to work while Ben slept.

I spend most of the following day at work deeply distracted about the relatively innocent interaction with Ben the night before. I was anxious on several fronts. The embarrassment of the incident notwithstanding, I also had to admit that the mental image of my son's very large, very erect penis was now etched indelibly in my mind's eye. And it was arousing me despite my best intentions. I could not rid my 'mind's eye' of the image of Ben's erection no matter how hard I tried.

Nor could I control my physical reaction to this mental image. I could feel my pulse in my erect clitoris all day, and the gusset of my panties was wet all day long. I was an emotional mess. I simply could not control my physical arousal to these inappropriate thoughts and images dancing in my head.

Maybe it was simply the fact that I had been basically 'starved for sex' since my divorce. But my unnatural and inappropriate reaction to my 18 year old son's erection was very troubling to me. Very troubling indeed. In fact, even as I write this, my reaction is very troubling still. I am actually growing aroused just recalling these events.

Further, I was troubled by the fact that Ben's assertive, confident, even cocky manner last night both embarrassed and excited me. I was troubled and confused by the fact that my son's enjoyment of my humiliation, coupled with the confident manner in which he confronted me, aroused me. I did not like it, I did not understand it, but I could not deny my reaction to it.

I arrive home

I arrived home at the usual time and made dinner. We sat together at the table, silently at first.

As I usually do, I had a couple of glasses of wine with dinner to help me unwind a bit. I offered a glass of wine to Ben, and he accepted. I reasoned that he was 18, a college student who was not unfamiliar with alcohol at school. It seemed to be a harmless gesture to recognize the fact that he was now in many ways an adult. Ben and I each shared three glasses of merlot as we ate.

Over dinner, Ben broached the subject once again. I had planned to simply ignore the events of the previous night, but I quickly realized that I was going to have to address what happened.

Ben started the conversation abruptly, "Mom, I think we should talk about last night."

Perhaps he was emboldened by the third glass of wine? I was nervous and uncomfortable.

"OK, you start." I said buying time until I could get my thoughts together. I wanted to let him speak first so I could construct my response to whatever issue he raised.

"Do you know what I was doing when you came down the steps?"

OK, I thought, 'let's take a clinical approach to this situation'.

So I cautiously responded "I assume you were masturbating."

"Yes, I was. Are your OK with me doing that in your house?"

I was relieved that he wanted to discuss his actions rather than mine. "Of course I am. That is a normal, healthy activity for someone your age. There is nothing wrong with that, nothing to be ashamed of. I apologize for interrupting you."

Ben nodded indicating he heard and accepted what I had said. After about 30 seconds of silence, he asked, "Do you do it? Do you masturbate?"

Oh my, I thought; this has taken a nasty turn. Surely he could see me last night.

I could feel my voice quiver nervously as I answered, "Yes, I have been known to masturbate on occasion."

"How often do you masturbate, mom?" Ben probed.

"Ben, I am not comfortable discussing this with you. This is a personal matter, not something I should be discussing with my son." I could feel my face flush with embarrassment.

"Mom, you are trying to tell me that masturbation is normal, healthy and there is nothing wrong with it. Yet you don't want to talk to me about a normal, healthy activity that you admit you do. So which is it?"

I was amazed at how very comfortable my son was addressing this very intimate subject. Unlike my son, I was certainly a long way from 'comfortable' with this subject. I struggled with how to respond.

Finally I said, "OK, you are right. It is a little embarrassing, but there is nothing wrong with it, and it is normal." I took a deep breath. Then I took a long sip of my glass of merlot. "Yes, I masturbate, or try to, several times a week. If I am successful, it helps me sleep."

"Try to? If you are successful?" Ben questioned.

"Yes, try to. Here is a little known fact about your mother. It is often difficult for me to reach a climax. So I often try, but do not fully succeed."

"Why do you think you have trouble cumming?"

"Whoa, your not even going to use the clinically correct terms, are you? You are going directly for the street slang? OK, I guess we'll use terms you are comfortable with."

I paused to gather my thoughts before continuing, "I guess I have trouble because I am easily distracted, and struggle with the feeling that on some level that sex is wrong. I know that is silly way to feel. I know that sex, in particular, masturbation is normal and healthy. Nonetheless these irrational feelings I have do interfere sometimes."

"How do you do it? Do you insert something or just use your fingers?" he asked in a matter of fact manner that made me very uneasy.

I blushed deeply. I certainly did not want to discuss my vibrator selection with my 18 year old son. "Benjamin! That is not the sort of question you ask your mother!"

"Why not? I am curious how women do it?" He was calm, comfortable, and he seemed to be unaware how inappropriate these questions were.

I sat there for several seconds trying to decide how to respond. I decided that if my son was comfortable asking these questions, I should answer as honestly as I could.

"I usually just touch or rub myself, on the outside. That is, I usually rub my clitoris." I took a deep breath before continuing. "But I have used a device internally when I felt a real need to achieve a climax."

I paused for a moment thinking about the absurdity of this conversation with my only son. I was keenly aware of the intimacy of this conversation I was having with Ben. "I have never before discussed this with anyone, including your father. No one has ever asked me about this before. This is a very, very strange conversation we are having. Very strange."

Ben smiled at me with genuine amusement. "Mom, thank you for being honest with me and sharing this with me. I really do feel closer to you having discussed this with you. It is a strange conversation, but I like the fact that we can talk about something so personal like this. I like it a lot."

Ben's last comment did make me feel good. I did feel very close to my son at that moment. And I realized that my vagina was starting to lubricate from the discussion. I briefly wondered if Ben was also growing aroused talking about his mother inserting a vibrating dildo inside herself? Since he was sitting at the table, I was unable to sneak a glance at his crotch to determine if my son was also reacting to our discussion in the same manner as his naughty mother was.

This conversation was definitely affecting me. I tried to purge these thoughts from my mind, and tried to focus on more appropriate topics.

After a bit more back and forth, I cleared the table and went up stairs to change. I briefly contemplated what to wear. I decided to don the night clothes I would normally wear. I reasoned that it would send the wrong message to Ben if I started acting very differently than normal just because of our dinner conversation about masturbation.

I returned wearing a t-shirt that came down to my mid-thigh. My pale green cotton panties were modestly hidden underneath. I did realize my nipples were on 'high alert' and were prominently visible under the cotton material of my t-shirt. I thought about wearing a bra to hide my erect nipples, but decided that would be just silly. These were my night clothes. Ben would just have to deal with the fact that my nipples were erect tonight. After all, he was pretty much responsible for my condition.

Ben was in the den, sitting at the computer, when I returned downstairs to watch TV. I waved to him as I started to walk past the den into the TV room. Ben beckoned me into the den and asked me to sit down and watch a video with him. I looked at the screen and saw an attractive woman lying on her stomach on a massage table with a young muscular masseur starting to rub her naked back. She had a towel covering her bottom, but she was obviously naked underneath.