Milestones

This is the second part of a three part story about a love affair between a mother and her son. Thank you for the positive feedback and please read on.

Catherine's Story-My Beautiful Boy

I enjoy these moments most of all. When the house is empty, I lie in this single bed and think about Tom. I am certain I can smell him on the bed clothes and breathe slowly and deeply to inhale his scent. I trace my fingers over my skin and imagine his touch. I close my eyes and relive the long afternoons I have spent here with him. The slow and nervous love making that built a closeness and trust between us like no other. I let the thought of him take over my senses as I slip my hand between my legs and slowly begin to pleasure myself.

Our sex is so different to that which I share with my husband. That is urgent and greedy, with both of us focused on fulfilling our own need. With Tom it is careful and kind. Two people both wanting to give up their own enjoyment in order to please the other. As the pleasure from my own touch begins to increase, I think about the texture of his skin and the warmth of his body wrapped in mine. The feel of his mouth on my breasts and the way that he touches me so lightly, as if fearing he might somehow break me.

I remember his excited naivety the first time we enjoyed each other and how, in a strange and thrilling way, it heightened my need to take him further into the intensity of my love for him. I wanted my beautiful boy to know that there was no part of me that was closed to him either emotionally or physically. I wanted him to know that he could take anything from me that he wanted or needed. I can still feel the delicious thrill of his penis entering me for the first time. The memory of that moment excites me every time I call it back to my mind. That moment, knowing that I was entering the world of the deepest and darkest taboo, had been a frightening but irresistible journey. The erotic high that it brought me then had shocked me. Now, knowing that I was addicted to that thrill shocked me even more and made me crave it more. A virtuous circle of sexual need that is far deeper than anything else I can imagine.

My fingers work steadily against myself and I imagine the strength of him inside of me. He has the ability to make me come more urgently and powerfully than any other man ever has. It is not just how it feels physically that is so amazing when he shares this bed with me, but the knowing that he wants to make love to me as much as I want to make love to him. Knowing that he needs to have my body. Knowing that he loves to fuck his own mother. As I entice my orgasm now with my own hand, I think about him telling me how good it feels to be inside of me. How he tells me that he loves me as he presses his mouth to mine. As we explore each other I beg him to swear to me that he will never touch another woman and that he will always be mine. When I hear him promise me that, promise his own mother, then I can orgasm. It happens then and it happens now as I push my fingers inside of myself.

Afterwards I lie still and think of his face and the darkness of his eyes. I think back over the months that have passed since we first made love properly and try to remember every detail of our journey. The journey that brought us together as lovers. My beautiful Tom, my beautiful boy.

By the time our 18 year old son Tom came back from university for the Christmas holiday my marriage was somewhere near to being back on track. The sudden death of our daughter Julie a year before had smashed a hole in our family and, for a while, we had all lost our sense of perspective. My husband's way out of the misery of that time was to begin an affair. Now that had worn itself out, as I knew that it inevitably would. We had passed through the worst of the storm and resolved to rebuild our life together. I was determined to make it work.

Gradually life had returned to some sort of normality. He continued with his finance business and I continued with my mornings shopping and afternoons alone waiting for him to return home. At weekends we did the normal rounds of friends and restaurants, trying our best to enjoy the middle class life we had grown into. At night our sex was good but no more than that. We did our best to excite each other and reach the heights we had once enjoyed but we never quite seemed to find that place. I suspect that, for him, I was a poor second to the twenty something slut that he had been sleeping with behind my back for the best part of a year.

But for me, the physical dissatisfaction stemmed from something completely different. Although I didn't want it to be, I knew deep down that there was something far more complicated that was getting in the way. Although I wouldn't admit to myself, even in my deepest thoughts, I wanted Tom.

In the confused aftermath of Julie's death, our relationship had moved to a place that it should have never have gone to. It was just once. A simple act of us comforting each other in the desperate darkness of our grief. I had wanted to be close to him and share something intimate with him as an extension of the bond that ran between us. I had masturbated him. Used my hands to give him a pleasure that I knew he wanted from me. Afterwards I had sworn to myself that it would never be repeated. At the time, I could see no choice other than to try and forget what had happened and take comfort from the normal and loving mother son relationship we had always shared. But the truth was that I burned for him.

I tried to build a mental barrier to protect myself from it but when he arrived home from university for the winter break I began to realise how much I wanted him. Of course it was never discussed. We continued to show each other the affection and care that we had always done, but there were moments when the very presence of him invaded my thoughts and feelings in a way that I knew was wrong and yet felt exhilarating. It would happen in the simplest of ways. Him brushing past me or our hands touching as I handed him something. In those split seconds I would feel the force of his sweetness washing through me and I needed him. I needed to be near to him, to hold him, to lie with him and to make love to him.

Thinking about the possible consequences of acting on my longing helped me to cope with the physical need for him. He was my son and more than anything in the world I wanted him to be happy and have the security of a loving family. The sudden death of his sister had already robbed him of so much and I knew that moving our relationship outside of the normal family boundaries could result in even more pain him. Worst of all, there was the possibility that the bond that we shared could be broken beyond repair. I had already lost one child, I didn't want to lose another. So I taught myself to loathe the sensation of excitement that I felt when I was near to him physically. Even though I craved them like a drug, I tried to close down the thoughts and fantasies that floated through my head. What I couldn't control was the growing love that I felt for him when he showed tenderness or concern for me. I knew it was a love more powerful than that which normally existed between a mother and son. It was that which ultimately forced me to break the promises I had made to myself.

I can remember the exact moment when I knew that us being together was inevitable. It stands out like a milestone in my memory. We had arranged to invite some family friends to come for meal. Jason and Ruth, along with their daughter Rebecca, were people that we had always been close to. Rebeca in particular had been a school friend of Julie from when she was small. It was difficult for me to see her. Now 21, she was growing into a beautiful young woman and it reminded me of what I had lost when Julie had been taken away from me. Watching her as she smiled, chatted and flirted with Tom over the dinner table reminded me of the loneliness that had pinned me down in the year since the accident.

Ruth also had the ability to make me feel vulnerable, even though she was someone that I had always trusted. She was a strikingly beautiful woman who, regardless of the onset of middle age, had the ability to make men interested in her. My husband was one of them. When our sex life had been better we had sometimes teased each other with talk of fantasy partners. He had told me several times that he found her attractive and that he liked to imagine taking her in our bed while I watched. This had all been part of the harmless sexual games that we liked to play back then, but watching her now as she asked him questions about his business (something that was always guaranteed to feed his ego), made me remember why she had the knack of attracting attention.

Whether Tom had noticed how quiet I was that evening or had seen something in my face I don't know. He left the room briefly and then returned just I went into the kitchen to make coffee. He followed me in and, as he did so he put his arms around my waist as he stood behind me. This wasn't unusual and perhaps he was aware of the physical rush that his contact always gave me, but he had a different reason for his closeness. He pressed a piece of paper into my hand and kissed my cheek.

"What's this?"

"Read it" he said, still holding me close to him, "It's a secret message."

It was just a small slip of pink paper that he had folded in half. As I unfolded it he had written neatly in blue ink the words 'you are the most beautiful woman here this evening, all my love, always and forever, Tom'.

It was a little joke and the type of thing he often did, but for me it was one of the sweetest and kindest things that anyone had ever done for me. This wonderfully sensitive boy had picked up my unease and insecurity and had stepped in to protect me from myself. I turned round and held my arms around him. I could hear the talking and laughing from the room next door but for a moment there was just this boy inside of my heart. I kissed him. A brief act of my lips pressed lightly to his but a connection that that woke something inside of me that had been waiting for this time.

In the few seconds that our mouths were together I felt the now familiar urge to have more of him. Subconsciously I convinced my brain that I was returning the warmth and care that he had shown in that silly note. In reality I knew that I wanted to push open an emotional door to a place where there was just the two of us. I looked into his face and smiled at him.

"Thank you" I said, before telling him to take the cups through.

For the rest of the evening Tom seemed slightly different. Less interested in Rebecca's jokes and careful to make sure that he made eye contact with me whenever it seemed like I was drifting out of the conversation. As I tried to sleep that night my head was full of him.

A few days later was the first anniversary of Julie's death. I was worried about how I would deal with the day but resolved not to let a simple date suck me back into a pit of grief. I insisted that we did things as normal and that my husband spend the day at work. It was a cold and bleak December afternoon and not a good day to be wandering around a cemetery but, after lunch, I asked to Tom to drive me there so that I could take flowers to her grave. I felt that I should make some sort of effort to mark the occasion simply and so went upstairs to get ready while tom finished off the studying he had been doing.

I wasn't sure how I should dress. I knew full well that Julie would have hated the idea of me spending my days as if I was constantly dressed for a funeral but, nonetheless, I wore black stockings and a knee length black skirt. On top I wore a blue cashmere sweater that Julie had chosen for me on our last girls' shopping trip together and it made me happy as I recalled how well she had said it suited me. I tied up my hair at the back and readied myself for the trip, reminding Tom that we would both need to wear a warm coat against the cold of the day.

Tom had only recently passed his driving test and he knew that I worried about him driving, given that Julie had died in a car accident. He took his time and drove slowly through town, as careful as always to make me feel safe in his presence. We spoke little but he stayed close to me as we placed the flowers and spent a short time in our private world of sadness and loss. Driving home he switched on the radio to keep the silence at bay and respected my need not to speak.

As we drove he rested his free hand on the upper part of my thigh close to my lap. It wasn't a sexual touch, just a small physical gesture to remind me that he was here for me. I pressed my hand on his wanting to return the sense of warmth, allowing his hand free only when he needed to shift gear. Silently watching him as we made our way home, I began to realise how with everything he did he was showing his concern for me. With every little act I could feel the depth of his love for me. I knew that it was becomingly increasingly difficult to work out the border between my love for him as my son and my ache to have him as a lover.

At home we drank tea to get warm again, before Tom went up to change from the smart clothes he had been wearing into a sweatshirt and trousers. When he came back he found me in the kitchen and gave me a hug. It felt nice. As always, he seemed to know instinctively when I needed him to be there for me.

"I love you mum, you know that don't you?"

I smiled at him and nodded, stroking his cheek and telling him that I needed to go up and change. As I turned slightly to move from his embrace, he turned me back towards him and kissed me. It was the first time he had taken such a step without my lead and it surprised me in a way that I hadn't expected. Until now everything had been about me trying to stop myself from taking him with me as I gradually drowned in my own longing for him. But this kiss punched a tiny but unfillable hole in whatever wall I had tried to build. It was hesitant, but I knew that he was trying to show me that he understood the frightening excitement that tore through me every time we were close. I took over the act. My mouth loosened and I ran my tongue across his lips as I cupped his face in my hands. I felt his mouth accepting mine and we held each other as we savoured the closeness. Whether there was any way back from this I didn't know but, without speaking, I took his hand in mine and led him upstairs.

We went into Julie's room. It just seemed as if that was the place where our togetherness felt most natural. We sat down side by side on the edge of the bed and for a little while we just held hands. He reached up to cup my breast through the fabric of my sweater. The gentle press of his hand thrilled me and I guided his hand to push it more firmly against me. I closed my eyes and let the surge of pleasure his touch gave me sink into me. We didn't kiss now. I simply let it happen because I wanted it to. I moved his hand down towards my waist and helped him to pull up my sweater.

"Take this off for me, please take it off."

We moved our hands together as he lifted the sweater up over my shoulders and we let it fall to the side of us. He seemed frozen and unsure what to do next and so I reached behind myself to unfasten my bra. As it too fell away, I took Tom's hand back in mine and pressed it to one of my now naked breasts. He touched my nipple with a gentle trace of his thumb and then explored the flesh with his whole hand. The sensation of his touch was incredible. I let him take his time and dropped my hand away from him.

"You are so beautiful mum."

Hearing him call me that should have stopped me. I knew that. But it simply made me want this more. I reached towards him and pulled his sweatshirt up over his head to expose his flesh. I could see the hesitancy in his eyes and leaned forward to kiss his face. I kissed his neck. Kissed across his shoulders and licked gently over his skin. I wanted to taste him and to experience the sweetness of him. My mouth worked down across his chest. I kissed lightly across his nipples and I playfully swept my tongue across each one in turn. I moved my mouth back up to find his. As I did so, I pressed my hand against his penis beneath his trousers. He was hard and I felt a rush of adrenalin from knowing that he was experiencing the same excitement that I was.

Looking back on my acceptance of what was happening I know that I loved him and I wanted us to be close. I wanted to us to be able to share our love in the most special way we could. But I know also that I wanted the darkly sensuous nature of what we were doing to electrify him like it was doing to me.

My kiss against his mouth was now harsh and greedy and my movements became hurried. I reached beneath my skirt and pulled my knickers down over my thighs and legs. I worked my hands to his waist and pulled at the loose trousers he was wearing. Realising he had no shorts beneath gave me a slight but definite shock of excitement as I released his stiff and naked cock.

Pushing my skirt up around my waist, with my stockings still in place, I stretched myself over him. Straddling him, I moved my hand down to guide his cock inside of me and felt his hands holding me at my waist. I looked into his face as I positioned myself over him and I breathed in sharply as I let the weight of my body and tightness of my vagina slide over his cock. We stayed perfectly still with our arms around each other as I let him taste this new experience.

Feeling him cut into me that first time was stunning. I could not remember any time in my life when it had felt so right to have another person inside of me. No other sexual sensation can compare with the intensity of emotion or pleasure that the feel of him entering me gave me. Nothing mattered other than this.

I began to very slow move myself up and down, using the muscles of my buttocks to propel and control the movement. My arms were wrapped around his shoulders and I kissed his face and mouth as I began to fuck him. I could feel him gently pushing himself back up towards me as he enjoyed my movements and we held each other tightly as we made love for the very first time.

Between kisses I whispered to him that I loved him and that he felt beautiful inside of me. With his father I still insisted that he use a condom as contraception, but with Tom it felt that there could be no other way other than to have the naked flesh of his cock inside of me. Perhaps I should have thought about the risk of conceiving a child with my own son but all that mattered to me then was to feel that there was nothing between us.

Our movements quickened as we both drank in the deep pleasure. The thought of my own beautiful boy sharing this with me pressed a secret switch somewhere deep in my psyche. I loved the purity of this. The fact that we were finally acting out our tenderness for each other in the way that lovers should, but also the pure sexual thrill of the act of consensual incest that we were committing. We held each other even more tightly as we shared that sensuous connection and began to enjoy the build up to orgasm. I kissed him as I rode him. Harsh and frantic kisses that bit into both of us. I wanted to speak to him, to try and express to him what I was feeling.

"You feel beautiful my baby, I've wanted this so much, I've wanted this so much."

He didn't speak back to me and I knew that he would come quickly. His hips pushed upwards as he began to release himself and he cried out gently. The movement and rush of him inside of me, coupled with the eroticism of knowing that he was filling me with his sperm, brought my own orgasm. I don't exactly know what words I said. I think I whispered to him that I wanted him to fill me, but everything was lost in the excitement of my climax.