Meg has a body with curves and textures made for fucking. From the time I was old enough to realize it during high school, my mind was imprinted by images of her body and how it would feel to be with her in different sexual positions and scenarios. Part of this was certainly the result of my hormones, but Meg was also more than just the sex object of my fantasiesβshe was my Mom and the centerpiece of my yearnings. Beyond her delectable body, her intoxicating character drew me to her and I thought about her all of the time in the nastiest of ways.
Mom has a special way about her that not only elicits lust but also a sense of belonging and substance in whomever she gives her attention to. I grew up seeing this in her interactions with people whether they were strangers, friends, or family. Before my father passed away, my parents would have parties and I was always intrigued by the way both men and women responded to her. I never understood it until Mom and I were left alone by my father's death when I was 8. Mom has a unique way of making a person feel like they are the only person in her world but there is also enough of an edge to her so that people keep a comfortable distance as well.
When I started high school, I began to see my Mother in a new light. I noticed more about her appearance and her personality. With only the two of us in the house, she doted on me and pursued her career with determination. I spent most of my time outside of school playing sports and obsessing about girls and sex when I wasn't doing homework or my chores.
My new perception of Mom was born one day during my senior year when I was doing the laundry. I was sorting the clothes from the hamper when I found a pair of Mom's panties. I had done the laundry before on many occasions but seeing my Mom's lacy black panties triggered something new inside of me. Perhaps it was because I had recently begun to date but now for the first time I thought about my Mom as a woman, a woman with her own sexuality.
This revelation caused me to start paying more attention to the details of who my 41 year old Mother really is. She stands 5'6" tall and weighs about 125 pounds with perfect proportions. Her sandy blonde hair is cut just above her shoulders and it frames her face beautifully. High cheek bones, full, sensuous lips, and deep blue eyes compose what I consider the classic good looks of her face. Her ass is tight and leads to slender legs of well-defined calves and slim ankles. She usually wears skirts or dresses with heels that accentuate her legs. I know her breasts are a mouth-watering 36dd and that her waist measures 26 inches because the laundry room is a library of information about her.
One afternoon after school, I was jerking off with her panties in hand. I was just about to cum when she walked in on me. She was shocked and pissed. She started yelling and screaming because in my uncontrollable lust I asked her for a blow-job. She called me sick and perverted.
"Oh my gawd! What are you doing Paul?!!"
I looked at her feeling crazed with lust. I was staring into her eyes and pleaded, "Mom, I'm just... I... You're so beautiful...will you give me a blow-job?"
She was incredulous. "WHAT? You want me to do what? You little pervert!!!"
"Mom... Mom... I'm sorry...I...."
Mom screamed at me. "Stop it Paul!!! Stop right now! What are you doing! You pervert, how can you...?!" She slammed the door and left.
I didn't know what happened and sat there shell-shocked with my cock in my hand. After a few minutes, Mom pounded on the door and yelled. "Take a shower and get dressed."
I was scared shitless and it took a while for me to work up the courage to go downstairs. As I descended into what felt like hell, I heard Mom on the phone. She turned her back to me when I entered the kitchen and finished her conversation. When she hung up the phone, she said, "Don't say a fucking word Paul! Get in the car!" she yelled.
I wanted to ask where we were going, but instead just stared out the window. I couldn't even look at Mom, I was mortified.
Mom drove in silence, and I didn't recognize where we were going. It was fifteen minutes before Mom said, "Do you remember Lynne Stein?"
"Mrs. Stein?"
Mom nodded. "My friend, Lynne Stein. She got divorced last year and stayed at the house for a few days."
A few quiet minutes passed before Mom said, "She's a therapist and she said she could see you today." More silence. I couldn't believe I had been so stupid. How could I ask my own Mother for a blow-job? And now I was being taken to see a therapist. I remembered Mrs. Stein as a nice woman but didn't want to see a therapist. It was all getting worse and worse. Mom steered the car into the driveway of a big white house. "Come on," Mom ordered. I obeyed.
The door opened and there was Mrs. Stein smiling pleasantly. She hugged my mother and said, "Meg! You don't look any worse for wear after your little episode." Then she looked at me.
"I don't know if you remember me, I'm Lynne." She examined me carefully and smiled. "You've grown." She was pretty in a natural way. Her blonde hair was pulled back and she wore a simple blouse and short skirt.
Mom looked at me. "I'll be back in a few hours. You listen to Mrs. Stein and do what she tells you to do. This should help you with your problem."
"Come inside, honey." Lynne said.
"Wait. Mom?" I beckoned as Mom hurried off in lingering anger.
Lynne gave me a reassuring smile. "Just come inside."
I was still nervous, especially now that I was left alone with this woman.
"Can I get you something to drink, honey?" she asked.
"No thanks."
Lynne took my hand and led me to the couch. Her hands were warm and soft. She had long pink fingernails, and despite my anxieties I was a little turned on my her nails.
Lynne sat down and was blunt. "So, your mother told me you asked her for a blowjob."
I could feel my face flush and my teeth grind. Hearing the word "blowjob" come from the lips of this virtual stranger scared me. Finding out that she knew about "my question" was worse. "My...my mother told you about that?"
Lynne smiled. "She called me a little while ago. But don't be embarrassed."
"Don't be embarrassed!? My mother told you...what she told you, and I shouldn't be embarrassed?"
"No." she said calmly.
I was incredulous. "Don't you think I'm a pervert?"
"Not at all." She gently squeezed my arm. "Paul...It's OK. I'm a therapist."
She had this oddly soothing effect on me, "Now, let me ask you a question. Would you like to have me give you a blow-job right now?"
A lightning bolt shot through my head. "What did you just say?"
She smiled warmly. "I'm offering to give you a blow-job."
"You...you'll give me a blow-job?" I said, feeling like I was hallucinating.
Her lips curled into a sly smile. "Of course, honey."
I thought my head would explode. My heart was racing. "Really?"