Lessons For My Son Ch 09

Hi. Adam here. Or, as I like to say when I meet a woman, "Madam, I'm Adam." Dad's writing got me started on the road to, well, sleep with my Mom and his advice along the way helped me get where I am today. I hope others have read it, and are following my progress. I'll tell you this: if you do what Dad advised me to do, you can get where you want to be. To give you further encouragement, I thought I should write something to tell you how it went. Since it's kind of tough talking with Dad face to face about this, (Say, Dad, I fucked your wife!) I hope I can give him a picture of how it went by writing it in this forum. Dad agreed to let me use his account to post it.

I'll sum it up in a few words. Any son can seduce his Mother.

Any son can seduce his Mother. I should say it a thousand times, because it's true. I don't care how strict and straight-laced she is. If you put the effort into it, you will get there. Believe me. My Mom, Mandey, was always so proper that I thought she had sex only two times - one for me, and one for my sister. She wouldn't tolerate an off-color joke. She dressed conservatively. She never tolerated anything even slightly out of line.

I don't want to sound disrespectful here because I love her deeply, and I don't want to take away the suspense of what I'm writing, but that strict and proper Mother is now sucking my dick whenever we can get away together. There. That's your pep talk.

I'm not a great writer and I'm in a bit of a hurry to get this done on Dad's computer while he and Mom are shopping. It's going to seem like I went from, "Hi, Mom, how's your day?" to sucking her tits in a week or two. It wasn't like that. It took time. It seems like a blur to me, though. To me it does seem like things just flowed seamlessly, although I know they must not have. I'm going to give you some of my more vivid memories, just to illustrate how it went.

Yes, I was distant, both with Mom and Dad. From an early age I was fixated on my Mother. My buddies and I used to talk about which Mothers we'd like to fuck, and I never understood why my Mom was not top of the list. She was always top of my list. She's always been pretty enough, kind of tall and a killer pretty face, but maybe they were put off by her hair that she let gray naturally. I thought it was beautiful. I thought, and still think, she's beautiful. I guess, though, what really put them off was her attitude. She was always friendly enough with my friends, but everyone knew Mom was a stickler for following the rules and something of a Puritan. Kind of no nonsense if you know what I mean. Other Moms would flirt with us, but never my Mom. We would dare each other to touch one of our Mom's butts, and we'd do it, and get a gentle scolding from whichever Mom it was. But never my Mom. Too dangerous with her.

I think she was always self-conscious about her body. I was lucky enough to have seen her partially nude on several occasions as she bustled about in the morning to get ready for work, and I was impressed. Sure, she didn't have the tits that Jim's Mom had, but they were perky and fine, in my eyes. She has always fought what she thinks is a weight problem, but I don't see it. She has a butt to kill for, curvy and solid, and I even think her little chubby belly is hot. But then, she's my Mom. Of course I think she's beautiful and sexy. As Dad said, "No matter what a woman looks like, there's a son who thinks she's beautiful and wants nothing more than to get her in bed." That may be true, but my Mom has always been a beauty.

But anyway, I was distant because I was afraid. I was afraid I would do something or say something that would reveal my feelings for her, and everything would come crashing down around me. After I read Dad's first letter and talked with him, I knew what I wanted was possible. It was such a relief that he was behind me. I think what keeps a lot of sons from going after what they want is fear of the old man. What if she tells him? What if he explodes? In hindsight, I think that is not a valid fear. I think there are few Mothers who would rat their sons out to the father, even if the son steps over the line. She's not going to want to tear the family apart and, as I found, the emotion of learning your son wants you in that way is powerfully exciting for a woman. No, I can't see it. So, if you're looking for my advice, I tell you to just go for it. Be aware of how she is reacting and back off if she gets really mad, but go for it and do it gradually. Even if she does tell your dad, and I don't think she will, he's been there himself with his own Mother, and he'll understand.

So I made an effort to be more talkative with Mom and to break the icy state I had created between us. I spent more time with her, talked with her, and tried to be the son she should have had all along. With that, I made a point of being more physically affectionate. I hugged her, I kissed her, I touched her hair.

The first time she kissed me on the lips, I was blown away. I had Dad's plan in mind and was going to take those tiny steps, then right out of nowhere she kissed me on the lips. From that point on, I kissed her as often as I could. She never said or did anything that would cause me to back off from that and when we were alone and I'd kiss her, she'd call me her "Mad Kisser." Now here, I kind of strayed from Dad's guidance. I figured that she was reacting so positively to my attention and, after all, she had started the whole kissing on the lips thing, that I could push the envelope a little faster. The worst she could do would be to say "No," and I knew I had time on my side. If I pushed it and she said "No," then I'd just back off a little bit and come back at it the next time. Besides, she had this way of coming in to kiss me with her lips slightly open. I thought she wanted more.

So, one Friday when I got home (and I was coming home pretty much every weekend now), she met me at the foyer when I came in. This was pretty early on, but I can't remember exactly when. Anyway, Dad was outside and I had already said hello to him. When I walked in, Mom met me, we hugged, and kissed. I took her face in my hands, looked her in the eyes, and went in for a different kiss. I slightly opened my lips and kissed her bottom lip. She didn't pull back, so I continued with a little tongue action, focusing on that lower lip. Damned if she didn't open her lips more, and I tentatively went for it with my tongue. I was more nervous than the first time I ever kissed a girl like that! She still didn't pull away, though, and we stood there and kissed for quite a while. We didn't get all passionate about it, but it was definitely not the kiss you would expect between a Mother and Son. We heard Dad coming in and she quickly pulled back, but she continued to look at me without saying anything. That was the best and most exciting kiss I will ever have. Sometimes at work I'll space out, and usually the reason is that I'm remembering that kiss.

From then on, when we were alone, I would kiss her like that. The kisses began to get more passionate with time and then, one day, she pulled the rug out from under me. She said, "Honey, I love how you are now, but we're getting a little out of line, aren't we? Maybe we'd better cool this off."

I was crushed, but I didn't show it. Luckily, Dad had prepared me for this eventuality, and I told her, "I can't cool it when I'm with you. You're the most beautiful woman in my life. Just know I'll never embarrass you in public - this is between us."

She said, "Well, just try, and don't ever let your father see you kissing me like that." Funny enough, I kept kissing her in that way and she never again told me to stop. I guess she just had to put up some resistance for her own pride, if nothing else.

One Sunday before I left to go back to my apartment, we were in the back of the house alone. Dad was upstairs, I guess. I'm not sure where he was, but Mom and I were alone and I was kissing the hell out of her. She had kind of melted into my body as we kissed, and I was holding her face and stroking her hair. I moved my hands down to her waist, held her tight, and then moved my left hand down to her butt. I pulled her into me. I think she had been feeling my dick before that as we hugged and kissed, but this time there was no doubt. I didn't over do it, but then moved my hand back to her waist. When we finished the kiss, she pulled back and said in this flirting little voice, "You bad boy. I'm your Mother. You shouldn't do that with your Mother."

I laughed. "You're my Mother, but you're also the hottest woman I know. How can I keep my hands off you?"

She shook her head, acting like she was exasperated with me. "Well, don't ever let anyone see you touch me like that."

I could not wait to get home that night and masturbate as I thought about that moment. She didn't tell me not to do it. She told me not to let anyone see me do it. She was really telling me I could do it! From that time on, if we were alone my hands were on her ass. She would playfully slap me away and wouldn't act like she was enjoying it, but she let me keep on doing it.

Now I don't want you to misunderstand. All this happened over months. As I remember, Dad and I had our first conversation in about April, and the first time I put my hand on her ass (God, how I remember it!) was in winter weather. So, it must have been at least seven or eight months. I didn't, and you shouldn't, rush this. Make it like mold growing on the shower curtain. One day it's not there, and seems like the next time you look, it's covered in mold. So, I just moved slowly but surely, and before I knew it, I had practically free access to her butt.

I wooed her the best I could do. I was never a great romantic guy, but I was looking at this like the experience of a lifetime. Imagine how you would be if someone told you, "You are going to have access to (movie star of your dreams) for one year. See if you can seduce her." That's how I looked at it. I had the time, I had the access, and I had the already strong Mother-Son Love bond to work with. When I was home, I'd take her out to lunch. When I was not home, I texted her several times a day. I'd call her at work, occasionally, just to talk. The first time I called her at work, she freaked. "What's wrong? Are you okay?" I had never called her at work before and, until I started this, I would rarely call at home. They always had to call me. Anyway, I told her I was thinking about her and just wanted to hear her voice. I'll swear, I think she cried a little bit. That was the icebreaker, though, and I kept constant contact with her. Just us. I'd still call home sometimes when I could talk with Dad, too, but Mom and I had this secret little communications channel between us. I started calling her "Babe" and she'd call me "Sweetheart." One time when I called, when she knew it was me she said, "I wondered when my lover was going to call." I don't think she ever told Dad that she and I were talking or texting every day.

I think I really made points when she had the flu. Dad was away on a trip, and she sounded miserable. She didn't even go to work that day, and she never misses work. So, I took a couple of days off and went home to take care of her. I made her soup (it sucked), I doted on her, brought her tissues, and went to the pharmacy to buy her cold medicine. I babied her. She was hurting, and didn't even care how she looked. She'd walk downstairs in just her panties and tee shirt and, even though I wanted to grab and kiss her, I didn't. I was a perfect gentleman, and the son I'm sure every woman wants. She protested that I was using my vacation time to take care of her, and I said something like, "Hey, you're my Babe. How can I not take care of you?" Sick as she was, that got a laugh.

Once we went to a movie she wanted to see. It had already been running for awhile, so the theater had hardly anyone in it and we were seated behind everyone. When the movie started, we held hands. Nothing special, but I reached down and took her hand and rested it on my leg. As we held hands, I gently rubbed the back of her hand with my thumb, and sometimes she'd do the same to me. I loved it. She was on my left side, and I reached across with my right hand and held her right arm, right at the bicep. I massaged it, rubbed it a little, and I think she expected me to go for her breast. All I would have had to do was stretch my fingers out a little bit. I didn't, though. We held hands as we left the theater and once we almost got to the car, since it was dark and we had parked pretty far out where there were no other cars, I put my arm around her. She hugged my arm, kind of rubbing her breasts against it, and I slid my hand down to her butt. "Oh, behave yourself," she said in her flirting voice. "You never get enough of that, do you?"

When we got to the car and were settled in, I reached over and took her face in my hands to kiss her. We had a pretty passionate time. Well, "passionate" really doesn't describe it. We were like teen-agers, making out in Dad's car. During one kiss, she took my hand from her face and placed it right on her breast. I almost choked. I think she had been expecting me to go for it for awhile, and got tired of waiting. She said, "I know you've been wanting to do that." I kept my hand outside her blouse, but I worked that tit, kissing her the whole time. She was hot. I think I could have gotten her undressed right then, but I didn't push it. One step at a time.

The next weekend, or maybe the one after that, she and I were eating the dinner she had saved for me, and Dad said he was tired and was going up to bed to read. Now, again, I don't want you to think this went fast. It didn't. I put time - months - into getting where I was at this moment. Tiny steps. Sure, some of the steps went pretty fast, but I was careful never to get ahead of myself. Anyway, when Dad said that I looked at Mom and, without Dad seeing, she kind of raised her eyebrows and smiled at me. Oh, boy!

That went pretty much as Dad described it, and that night is burned indelibly in my memory. I remember what she said, "Honey, this is moving pretty fast and I don't think I can give you what you want. What if someone ever found out?"

I kissed her. "First, no one will ever find out. This is our secret. It will always be our secret. I love you, and I want to continue to love you. We can, we just have to be very careful and there have to be rules. You are my Mother, and I will always love and respect you. I will never embarrass you in public, and will always treat you with respect. But when we're alone, I will love you as a woman like you deserve to be loved."

She sighed, and kissed me again. "Don't you ever, ever tell anyone. If you do, then it's all over, Buster."

As we kissed on the couch, I rubbed her hair as she liked. She suggested it would be better if she laid her head in my lap, and I eagerly agreed. I got a pillow, put it in my lap, and she laid down on her left side, resting her head on the pillow. I gave her the best head rub I could, concentrating on my emotions and passion into my fingers as I massaged her scalp. She sighed contentedly, practically purring. After awhile of doing that, I kind of held her head with both hands and gave just a gentle push down. I did it so gently that I thought maybe she wouldn't notice, but she laughed and raised her head up to look me in the eyes. In her teasing voice she said, "Oh, you bad boy. What are you doing?" I was just trying to formulate an answer to that obviously loaded question when we heard a thump from upstairs. Mom bolted up from my lap, scooted away from me, and we both sat there staring at the television. I have to admit, I had forgotten the thing was on, and neither of us had any idea what we were watching so intently.

When Dad didn't appear, she looked at me and again put her head on my chest. We kissed a bit, and I whispered to her that she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. And she was. She started rubbing my stomach with her right hand, and then slowly lowered it to my lap. Again, I put both hands on her head and gave a gentle push.

When she first put her hand on my dick, I thought I would explode. Kissing her the way we did was what got the ball rolling, getting my hands on her tits and butt was the next major step, and her putting her hand on my dick was the final dropping of the curtain. There was no pretense left. We had a sexual relationship, and she knew it and wanted it. She was in charge, though. I figured since we both knew where it was going, she should be able to set the pace.

When she slowly pulled her sweater up and let me see those beautiful breasts, I was shocked. I figured it would happen at some point, but wow. I was dumbstruck. I don't know what I said, but it must have been that they were beautiful. I think I said I had been waiting my whole life to see them like that and she gave a sexy little laugh. "You loved them when you were a baby," she whispered.

"Oh, I must have, because I love them now." They were just the right size to fit in your hand, and the pink nipples were standing hard. I tentatively reached out and held one, running my thumb across the nipple. She shuddered, and put her hand on my head, guiding it to her breast. She cradled her left breast in her hand, pushing my head into it. I teased her nipple with my lips, opened my mouth, and sucked as much of that tit into my mouth as I could. I sucked like a starving man, all the while rubbing her nipple with my tongue. I have never been turned on so much as I was when I first got my mouth on them, or should I say, when I got back to them after decades. I'll swear, I think she had an orgasm while I was sucking them. I'm pretty certain she did.

After awhile she pulled my head off her breasts - I had been alternating between them - and raised me up. She looked in my eyes and reached over to put her hand on my stomach. Slowly moving it down, all the while keeping her eyes on mine, she undid my belt buckle and unzipped my pants. I think she expected me to take it out for her. I didn't. In my previous relationships with girlfriends, at that point I would have showed her my dick and expected her to go for it. But I remembered what Dad said, and I was not going to do it for her. I knew she wanted it and when she wanted it badly enough, she would do it for herself. Sure enough, she did. She looked at me and took it in her hand. When she first looked down at it, she whispered, "Oh, my boy has grown up. Baby, that's a beautiful one." I guess one dick is as good as another, but when your Mother tells you that your hard dick is beautiful...well... there are few better things you can ever hear.

I'm not going to go into graphic detail, but she gave me the best blowjob I ever had, and I doubt I'll ever get a better one. Hell, I know I'll never get a better one. That beautiful face. My Mother's face. On my dick. I tried not to come too fast, but I just couldn't help it. I couldn't help it. I blew like Mount St. Helens. When she kissed me after swallowing my come, it sprang up again, as hard as a rock. I got a couple of blowjobs from her that night, and each one got better.

Since she had done that, as we kissed I slid my hand down to her pussy. I didn't go gradually. I should have, just to make the anticipation better for her, but I didn't. I put my hand right on it, and she arched her back up to press against my hand. I tried to get my hand into her pants so I could really get at it, and she wouldn't let me. She told me, "Honey, I think we've done enough for tonight. I don't want our first time to be rushed. If I let you undo my pants, I won't be able to stop. Just wait and I promise you'll get there when the time is right." Again, words I will remember until I die.