Synopsis: This is the third installment of an on-going series about a young man named Brendan who lives with his single mother in your average, suburban home. Average, that is, except that Mom is actually a transsexual. In this chapter, it is the morning following the first sexual encounter between mother and son, but definitely not the last.
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I woke up the next morning feeling warm and contented. I opened my eyes to find myself lying in my mother's bed, completely naked, covered by soft, downy blankets. I looked at the clock. It was nearly ten AM! I was going to be late for school!
All at once, the memories of the previous night struck me. I remembered my mom and I watching a gay porno together, masturbating together, bathing together, and finally sleeping together. If this could be called normal, that was disrupted by the fact that my mom was no ordinary woman. She was a transsexual - a woman born as a man who now lived as a female, indistinguishable from a real woman in every sense, except that she had male genitalia.
I thought of her enormous cock, which had dwarfed my own, as she gripped it tightly in her small fist, jerking it until the tip turned red and sweat glistened off her unblemished honey-colored skin. I thought of the way we'd ejaculated together in perfect unison, reaching a mutual zenith with our bodies entwined.
I pulled the blankets off me and stood up. On the floor beside the bed was a neat pile of fresh clothes which my mom had placed for me. Of her, there was no trace, only an empty spot on the bed where she had laid beside me. I pulled on a pair of boxer shorts and walked towards the door, stopping briefly to look out the window. Snow was falling heavily and it appeared to me as if there was at least eight inches already on the ground.
I left my mom's room, stopped in my bathroom to pee and brush my teeth, then walked downstairs. It was very warm on the first floor and I immediately noticed a large fire roaring in the fireplace. I also noticed the smell of waffles, which became more powerful as I approached the kitchen. I could see my mom standing at the counter, back to me. She wore a white, fluffy cotton bathrobe, which covered her well but still showed the right curves.
My mom's name is Christine. She's 41 years old and works as a producer at a local television station. She's tall and athletic with long, golden blonde hair. She also has D-cup breasts and a fabulous, firm ass which she always shows off, even when she doesn't mean to. I knew all these things before. What I didn't know as that she was a transsexual. After she married my father, her sperm was used to impregnate their best friend, my "Aunt" Natalie. After I was born, my father was diagnosed with cancer and passed away, leaving behind the love he had for his wife and son.
I had discovered all this only yesterday. After an embarrassing sexual episode with my girlfriend Ann, I'd come home and inadvertently caught my mom doing laundry in the nude. When she turned around, I discovered her secret. She had told me everything and although it was hard to accept at first, I quickly realized that I loved my mother no matter what she was. This, however, was far from the end.
Later that night, we talked about my encounter with Ann and I admitted the possibility that I might be gay. Mom encouraged exploration and we watched a gay porn movie together and one thing simply led to another. There were many factors involved, of course. The movie and our natural love for one another combined in a way we hadn't expected. I also think there was more to it, on a subconscious level. We'd always felt a sexual attraction to one another but, this night, it all came to the surface.
"Smells good," I said. My mom turned around.
"Good morning, honey," she said, smiling. "Did you sleep well?"
"Like a baby," I replied.
I moved towards her and she gave mea motherly hug and a kiss on the cheek, as was our usual custom in the morning. When she began to move away, I held her by the waist, and looked her in the eyes. She blinked nervously, then we leaned in together. Our lips met, softly at first, and soon we were engaged in a full lip lock. After a few moments, we pulled away. My hands rested on her hips for a second, then I slowly began to loosen the cord of her bathrobe. Once it was untied, I began to slowly part the fabric, as my mom lightly sighed. I could see the gooseflesh rising on her breasts and we both trembled.
She wore a white, silk nightie which was low-cut enough to show ample cleavage. It was hemmed and trimmed with lace mere inches below her crotch, which bulged outwards as her erection grew. My own cock immediately became fully erect in my boxer shorts. She looked down and smiled, blushing.
Mom reached behind me and grabbed my ass, then pressed my crotch against hers, grinding them together with only two thin layers of fabric separating us. I opened my mouth and she did the same. As we rubbed our aching cocks together, our tongues wrestled in our mouths. I slid my hands down the back of her nightie, kneading the flesh of her butt as we French kissed.
"Eat your breakfast," she said, when we finally came up for air.
"Do I have to?" I whined.
"Yes," she said. "Eat your breakfast or I'll make you go to school."
"Was it cancelled?" I asked. She nodded.
"And I called in sick for work," she added.
"You're sick?" I asked, slighting alarmed.
"No, silly," she said. "I just figured there's a lot of things we need to talk about and it's best we talk about them now. We need to get our heads straight about everything that happened last night and what we're going to do about it."
"OK," I agreed.
I sat down at the table and Mom served up one of the most delicious breakfasts she had ever made. Once I had started eating, she closed her bathrobe again (it was a little chilly in the kitchen) and sat down across from me to eat her meal. For the first few minutes, we ate silently, neither sure how to start the conversation. It's not that we were embarrassed, exactly, but this is the kind of situation very few people have any experience dealing with.
"My first concern," she told me, "was that you would wake up regretting what we had done. But considering what just happened, I don't think that's the case."
"Nope," I said, grinning.
"I don't regret it either," she told me, grinning herself.
"But where do we go from here?" I asked. That was the big question.
"That's up to you," she said. "What do you want?"
