I grew up in a small town in Southeast Michigan. My dad worked at 'Buick City' in Flint from before I was born until I was in my thirties. I always remember him working the first shift, from six AM until two PM. Lots of time he worked overtime, but mostly I remember both my parents being home when I got home from school. My mother worked part time selling real estate, but she never went to work before I left for school.
For some reason I started sleeping with my mother when I was about ten or so. I would wake up when my dad left for work and climb in bed with my mother. I liked to snuggle up to her back and smell her hair. I must have heard the garage door open and close, because I never went to her bed if my dad was still there.
I continued doing this until I was about thirteen, then either because my mother kicked me out, or I lost interest, I stopped doing it. But I always liked my mother's hair, and whenever I would get the chance, I would touch it and wrap it around my fingers.
I was a very late developer, and didn't go through puberty until I was almost seventeen. I never dated at all in high school, and didn't think much about girls. After I graduated high school, I enrolled in the local community college and continued to live at home.
I was almost nineteen the winter we had a tremendous snowstorm, and we lost electricity to our home. Even though the driving conditions must have been terrible, my dad got up and left for work. I must have heard him leave, because I woke up and it was freezing cold. Like old times, I got up and crawled in bed with my mother. I snuggled up to her back and twirled her hair around my fingers. Being in bed with my mom made me feel absolutely fantastic.
By the next day the power was back, and when I heard my dad leave for work I again went and climbed in bed with my mom. I twirled her hair and snuggle up to her back and just enjoyed her warmth and aroma. For the next couple of weeks I did this every morning when my dad left for work. My mother never said anything about it and never chastised me or asked me to stop. I just assumed she must have enjoyed it just as much as I did.
Then life changed for me. I had progressed from cuddling up to my mom's backside and smelling her hair to rubbing her arms and up and down her back. One morning she was on her back and I was up tight against her side and was playing with her hair and trailing my finger under her jaw when my forearm, unintentionally I should add, brushed across the hard nipple of her left breast. It felt so good that without thinking I let my hand slide down and caress her breast. I toyed with her nipple, through her nightgown top, for a long time.