Introduction
"How are we doing this? How am I letting him do this? How am I letting this happen to me?" I ask as he nudges and thrusts awkwardly into me with his stiff latex-clad cock. He's fucking me with the naivety of a much younger man, an inexperienced man; and that's what he is, or was; a thirty-six year old virgin!
I'm laid out on his single bed, my skirt hitched up around my hips and the crotch of my panties pulled to one side, and as I hold back my knees and close my eyes to think of other things the best I can, my only son breathes heavily down upon me as he drills my trembling depths.
This is his old bedroom, the one he slept in before he left to go to college and then to work away, and which he sleeps in now that he's returned home, broke, broken, and fed up with it all. Such was the pity I felt for he and myself that I welcomed him home to stay, thinking things might look up for him one day. Fancy still being a virgin after your sexual prime, though...
After a while I hear his breathing become more ragged, as I'm biting down on my lower lip, daring not to criticise him, for he has felt quite enough shame. God knows what he's thinking looking down on his fifty-eight year old mother as he stampedes towards his orgasm, but here it comes...
No it doesn't. He's softening up again. Poor boy!
1
Nobody can say that I love my son like only a mother could. There are reasons other than the sex. Jamie is far from ugly, but he is also sadly far from social, especially after some of the horrific ways he's been treated. That, without saying what those incidents were, explains why he gave up on dating. Self-employed and making just enough to cover the cost of living, Jamie lives an isolated life and is too happy with it for his own good.
My name is Sarah and I'd like to believe that age is being kind to me. Maybe when I hit sixty the rug will be pulled out from under me -- the blonde turned completely grey, my slim waist transforming into a paunch, and my pear shaped bottom and breasts pointing the blame to cruel and shameless gravity. I have a few years left to find out.
We live in a bungalow, on a quiet street in the leafy suburbs. I never married, never had much of a sex life, and I never lived with Jamie's father. He didn't want the responsibility, no matter what his excuse.
Ever since Jamie moved back home, which was now some seven years ago, I became more and more aware of his frustrations as he tried and failed to be noticed. I remember well the frustration of the thirties; all my friends married and moved away, and my own social life growing stagnant. I felt for him. I wished that somebody would at least feel for me.
And so maybe that was all it took to put me on the slippery slope to committing incest. Just a lonely old mother with her socially awkward son!
2
It's a curious feeling, believing you're over the hill, but always yearning for the life that I see on the television. With all the sex that they show these days, it's probable that I see more than Jamie does when he watches porn on the laptop at night.
Though shocked by some of the things I heard coming from his bedroom, I could only laugh to myself in the end when I heard such gems as, "ooh, fuck your mommy." But what the hell?!
Was he really into that kind of stuff, like Cersei Lannister and his namesake from Game of Thrones, but specifically for his own mommy?
I kept myself to myself and let these thoughts ruminate until they became the norm. I suppose we all have our kinks, no different to when we were teenagers. But when I saw Jamie naked coming out of the shower, or frolicking in his sleep, which he also did naked, sometimes I couldn't help but yearn for that old feel of youth. What it was like to be so comfortable and confident with your own body...
Things took a turn for the weird when he caught me looking one Saturday morning. He was not yet awake when I came into his room. I was going out for the day and wanted to tell him. But instead I stood by the opened door and I watched his sleeping form. Because with one forearm over his face in the sunlight, the other was wrapped around his penis, growing upward to glory!
I watched with fascination, my breath held fast as Jamie stirred and began to stroke himself slowly. What a specimen it was. I hadn't seen such a thing in a long, long time. It was a beautiful thing to behold, his rising from sleep into arousal and self-pleasure. When he gasped and moaned, breathed in deep and released, I found myself brought back to reality so soon. This was getting too much for me. I had to stop it right there...
'Jamie, I'm going out,' I said quietly. He flinched and moved to cover his immodesty too late. Then groaned and rolled his back to me.
I left that morning feeling so guilty and yet I couldn't quell my remorse for wanting to have seen him finish. I could allow myself to imagine him at full hardness, the whole thing thick, erect and throbbing. And at the point where he would ejaculate thick ropes of pure white seed, I would hate myself. But I didn't.
Imagine, I thought, if I had waited and watched and then thanked him for the show. I grimaced as I searched my purse for change for my train ticket. I'd better not get into the habit of thinking out loud.
3
Poor Jamie was frustrated beyond belief and I could tell simply for the fact that I was his mother. So when I decided to make the effort to involve myself and talk to him, I was faced with the challenge of weeding out the truth from the lies. Not that he was a liar by compulsion or by bad manners. It was clear to see that he had his shame to protect.
Maybe one day the chance would come to him, but then when I found out he was a virgin...
'No you're not,' I persisted, 'you've known plenty girls who found you quite charming. Are you telling me you never got with one of them?'
'I was raised to respect women, mum,' he said. 'And not to fall for trouble. I just wanted to wait for the right one to come along...'
'I don't know what to say.'
'Well the right ones came along and they chose trouble instead!'
Was I foolish to blame myself for having taught him respect? Was it my fault that a gentleman was no longer in fashion? I could have kicked myself. I felt so bad. I was the reason my son was in his mid-thirties and had never gotten laid. And come to think of it, I could have done with getting laid myself.
3
He dares not touch me when I'm letting him use me. I assume the position and he grasps the mattress, and when he fills me it's never to bursting point, where his balls would come to rest against my behind. Laid out flat on his single bed, knees up to my chest, I close my eyes and bite my lip and I let him have at it; a little more competent now in his deepening strokes and calmer of movement; a little gentler.
It's been three weeks now since we started having sex and still the same conclusion. He won't orgasm, but rather he goes soft at the end. And later at night I hear him masturbating to get to that sweet release that I want for him.
This time I took off my skirt for him and it lies crumpled beside me. I've surprised myself with such an act. Yes, my son is fucking me, but I have deliberately exposed more of myself for his pleasure and mine...
4
