This is a work of fiction, intended as a sexual fantasy. The behavior in this story is not condoned or encouraged by the author. All sexual activity is engaged in by characters of legal age.
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Mom/Son - Incest - Taboo - Long Story - Buildup - Edging - Teasing - Slow Burn - Coercion - Guilt - Giving In - Love - Straight Sex - Hand Job - First Time - Kinky Mom - Graphic Sex
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CHAPTER 1
A few years after Dad left, Mom and I moved into Grandpa's old farmhouse.
We basically lived there when I was a little kid anyway. Dad was over the road 3 out of 4 weeks every month, and honestly I liked it that way. Driving a truck was the only thing he was really good at, other than cheating on my mom with progressively younger women, and Mom and I always had a better time when he was gone. When he finally left for good, Mom only cried once.
I didn't cry at all.
While Dad was gone, Mom and I would go over to Grandma and Grandpa's house and I'd wear myself out in the yard playing with my cousins while Mom drank beer and played cards with Grandpa and talked about politics. Grandpa loved talking about politics... almost as much as he liked complicated card games that I could never get the hang of. This was back when Grandma was alive and the years of cigarette smoking hadn't crept up on Grandpa yet.
I still see Grandpa once a week. The home where he lives now is nice, and there are plenty of nurses for him to flirt with. Mom makes sure of that. "It's what grandma would have wanted," she says, which is a lie. Grandma was a jealous woman and I'm sure she continues to be jealous from beyond the grave. But it made Grandpa laugh. It's good when Grandpa laughs, he seems less sick for a moment.
We moved into his farmhouse, and I was thrilled. When Dad left we'd drifted from apartment to apartment, sometimes with only one bedroom. Not only was Grandpa's house full of wonderful childhood memories, it had 3 bedrooms, so I had my own room for the first time in years. It used to be my uncle Gary's room, and it still had a Led Zeppelin poster shoved in the back of the closet. Mom said he used to have Playboy magazines stuffed back there too, and she acted like that was somehow something funny and a little dirty. I didn't know what Playboy magazines were, other than that they didn't exist anymore and people tended to giggle when you brought them up.
Mom didn't believe in public school, and we couldn't afford private school, so I spent most of my teenage years in that old farmhouse, reading voraciously. Honestly, I didn't mind. Mom had gone to college but dropped out before finishing, but not before she had become obsessed with the classics, and she kept me well supplied. When I wasn't reading, I was outside, running myself ragged even past my 18th birthday. The closest family was through the neighboring woods and their kids were 3 or 4 years younger than me, but I didn't mind. I think the hard times right after Dad left made it hard for me to want to grow up too soon, so we played together like we were all the same age: riding bikes, having pine cone wars, drinking spring water and generally acting like wild animals. When I got home I'd take a long hot bath (our old apartment only had a leaky stall shower) and then read for hours. We didn't have the internet and Mom had a cell phone, but there was just a landline at the house that I used for emergencies, so I just read, and watched movies on DVD.
Mom was young when she had me, so when I was 18, she was in her mid-30's. Everyone always told her she was beautiful, and she was. Tall, full-figured, with long dark hair and brown eyes. She was a waitress at a local diner, so she was always gone when I woke up in the mornings. She would leave lunch in the fridge and it was my job to make dinner, which I did even though I was bad at it. She never complained, although sometimes it would end up with a lesson on how to cook the food better. Mom was full of lessons. She never spanked me when I was younger, but she liked things to be a certain way and I always knew what it was.
This summer was when everyone was talking about the tick infestation. We didn't watch the news, and even we had heard about it. One of the kids down the street had even been bitten by a deer tick and got Lyme disease, so Mom became paranoid about ticks and insisted on checking me over every night after dinner. This promised to interfere with my reading (I was reading the
Odyssey
at the time and it was
finally
getting good), so I objected. Mom pulled out her phone and showed me pictures of what happens when people get Lyme disease. Going on the internet at all was really rare for Mom, so it made an impression, and I let her go through my hair slowly and methodically with the tweezers from her makeup bag. She usually found a tick.It was definitely for the best.
It was a stale, humid Wednesday night a few weeks later when I found a tick on my own.
Mom was working late and she said she'd eat at the restaurant. The neighbor kids and I were playing man hunt in the tall grass near the creek, which means I returned to the farmhouse covered in dirt and scratches from the sharp edges of the grass, which had been slowly drying out for weeks in the hot August sun.
Grandpa's house didn't have any air conditioning, so all the box fans we had were roaring as I stood in the bathroom, stiffly peeling my shirt off. While the teenagers around me had grown into their bodies already, everything with me seemed to be taking its time, and I was only now starting to sprout hair along the center of my chest, and bristles of it poked unevenly through the caked-up dirt on my face. I started the shower and as I started pulling off my pants, I saw a tick crawling on my belly. I snatched at it but it crawled with surprising speed down between my legs and was gone from sight.
