I've been an insomniac just about all of my life. I actually had to repeat the sixth grade because of it. My Mother took me to see my Doctor, who had no answers other than to say that sedatives were a bad idea. I was then taken to three different specialists over the years. We tried everything. OTC sleep aides, herbal preparations, depriving myself of any sleep during normal waking hours... none of it worked. I was even put on two different anti-seizure medications, hoping they would help? The result would invariably be that I would sleep two or three hours, then wake. And once I awoke, I couldn't get back to sleep. It was determined that I would probably grow out of it.
School was a huge problem. Even though my Mother made my condition known to principals, guidance counselors and teachers; I still caught hell for falling asleep in class. All of them at one point or another downright accused my Mother for the problem. They'd insinuate that she was allowing me to stay up late. This inevitably infuriated Mom. She'd tell them how she was a single Mother holding down a job and doing everything she and my Doctors could think of to try and solve it. But still, there were the remarks.
My junior year in high school, I began having really serious problems again. It looked as if I may fail and be held back once more. I was a wreck over it, and my Mom was at her wits end. I had already been held back once, and was a year older than most of my classmates at 18. I didn't want to be a 20 year old high school grad.
"Jason," she said, "tonight if you wake up, come to bed with me. I'll pet your face and try to help you fall back asleep."
"That won't work," I said. "Nothing works, Mom."
"Hun, when you were a baby, I put you to sleep that way all the time. Give a try for me sweetie, you got nothing to lose?"
She was right. I had nothing to lose by trying.
Mom left her bedroom door open for me; she didn't want me to have to fumble for it in the dark. She also plugged in a nitelight so I wouldn't trip over anything. My clock said 3:30am. I lie there looking at it until almost 4:30, I think. Finally, I gave in and went to Mom's room. The nitelight was convenient, although I preferred total darkness. I found Mom on the other side of her big bed and gently nudged her.
"Mom, Mom!" I whispered.
She opened her eyes, I told her I couldn't sleep.
"Get in with me, hun. I've got to pee anyways." Mom dragged herself out of bed and went to the bathroom. I could hear her stream in the quiet of the night. When she came back to bed, I was lying in the middle.
"On your back, sweetie." Mom said.
I rolled over and Mom soothed my face and hair. I don't know how long it took, but I fell back to sleep. I woke up once more and nudged Mom's shoulder. She dutifully had me lie on my back while she hummed softly and caressed me to sleep.
The morning was good for a change. I wasn't so tired I couldn't function. I didn't fall asleep in school that day, and when I came home I didn't fall asleep on the couch. At dinner, Mom made another suggestion.
"Hun, why don't you just sleep in my bed from now on? That way if you wake up, you don't have to come to me. I'll be right there."
"Sure Mom, that sounds good," I said. "I think I slept good with you last night."
"Good, hun. You know I'll help you anyway I can? I couldn't stand to see you go through another year of school."
"Yeah, Mom. I've been really worried. I think I'd just up and quit before I had to do that."
"You'll do no such thing! We'll get through this. Together," she emphasized.
Mom always made me go to bed at 10pm, every night. Weekend or holiday; no matter. One Doctor recommended that I needed to be on a regular sleep schedule, and not to vary bed times. Mom always tried to go to bed when I did. She didn't want to make any noise that might disturb me. So Mom said goodnight. That was my cue. I went to my room to get ready. Now, normally, I didn't wear underwear with my pajama bottoms. Mainly because I'd jack off at night. Just being able to pull my cock through the slit in the pajamas made it easy. For sleeping with my Mom however, I thought better of that and put some briefs on underneath. When I walked into Mom's room, she still had the lamp on the night stand turned on.
"Get in bed, Jason. I'll turn out the light when you 're tucked in."
I got in the bed and pulled the sheets up to my chin. Mom turned off the light. The room was lit very dim by the nitelight.
"Mom, the light?"
"Sweetie, see if you can't get used to falling asleep with it on?"
I moaned and rolled over, facing away from Mom and the light. Mom spooned up next to me and pet my head. She hummed her little song again, and I soon drifted off to lala land.
This arrangement worked well for about a week. I woke up Mom in the middle of the night, but not because I nudged her awake. I had been kicking in my sleep. Mom woke me up in turn and had me roll over on my back.
"Jason hun, you've been kicking me all night! I hate to wake you up, but I couldn't take it anymore. Do your legs ache?"
I thought about it a minute and decided they did indeed. I was also prone to cramps, sometimes initiated by my kicking. Mom rubbed my calves and thighs. She had to actually turn around in bed next to me to do this. But it felt nice, and relieved some discomfort. So this became a regular part of Mom's cure, along with the face petting and back rubs.
Now I was starting to have yet another problem. When Mom would rub my legs, I would get hard. Not just my typical hard-on I got throughout the course of any day; the painful kind. They would last until I fell back asleep. One night, Mom had been rubbing my thighs when her arm brushed my cock.
"Oh dear," she gasped. "Hun, did I do that to you?" Her tone was more of fear and concern. None of this had any sexual overtones for either of us at this point; looking back.
I stammered a bit and then admitted, "Yes Mom."
"Oh," she exclaimed. "Does it go away?"
"Not really. Not until I fall back to sleep," I said. "It hurts though."
"It's painful?" Mom asked with concern in her voice.
"Yeah, Mom. I just wish it would go away so I could get back a sleep."
"Hun," she said. "Why don't you go in your room and relieve yourself? You'll feel better and your erection will go away."
I didn't quite no what to say. I thought she meant that I go in my room and jack off. But a little voice in my head said that couldn't be what she meant. I guess Mom could see the struggle.
"Go on dear. Go relieve yourself and come back to bed. You don't have to be embarrassed, hun. I know you do it all the time."
"Mom," I stammered.
"Jason, just go take care of yourself. I understand."
With that, Mom rolled over and closed her eyes. I lay there a minute or two thinking.
"Go Jason! Now!" Mom ordered.
I got up and went to my room. Now usually, I did this in the dark, or in the day when Mom wasn't home. If Mom wasn't home, I got out my girlie magazines and jacked off to one of them. So I decided that under the circumstances, being ordered to go jack off; I couldn't get yelled at for being caught with my magazines. I opened one, found a picture of a beautiful young girl, and jacked off. I cleaned myself up with a t-shirt laying on the floor, and put the magazine away. Then I just simply went back to bed with Mom.
"Do you feel better," she asked?
"Yeah, Mom. Lots."
"Did you clean yourself up good?"
"Yes Mom," I said in a dejected tone.
"You didn't use a t-shirt, did you?"
I didn't answer.
"Jason, get a towel from the closet and use it. I'm tired of finding stains on your shirts. I KNOW you do it Jason. Don't be sneaky about it. Just use a towel and throw it in your hamper.
"Ok, Mom," I said.
"And you don't have to hide your magazines under the mattress either. I've known about them for ages," she huffed. "Put them where you put your other magazines. I don't mind, hun."
"Thanks, Mom."
"Night sweetie, try to get some rest."
I did.
So now; the pattern was I'd wake up, Mom would massage me, I'd get horny and leave the room to jack off. It seemed like the slightest touch from Mom would do it, yet even then I still didn't have any sexual feelings for her that I can recall. It was just a simple matter of being touched, and responding. Mom would just say little things like,
"Clean up good," or "Make sure you use a towel!" or "Wash your hands."
She never admonished me or made me to feel strange about it. In fact, one night I noticed there was a new magazine on my dresser. Mom evidently put in there on her way to bed. I was a Penthouse, just like my others. When I came back to bed, Mom even asked if I had found it.
