Opposite Day
Peter Liv glanced up from his tablet, as Leyla placed his coffee down on the napkin in front of him. Her cleavage seemed to get his attention.
"Jesus Leyla, don't you think you should put on some clothes before Adrian gets up?"
Leyla blushed, her light-cobalt-blue eyes darting to the clock. Her son would be down for breakfast in ten minutes.
How had she not changed yet? Leyla had the distinct memory of going to her closet and picking out a shirt and jeans from the hangers, but she must have gotten distracted. Yes, like forgetting one's keys or misplacing a phone, now that she was 40, she might as well get used to things slipping her mind. The idea of Adrian catching her in the flimsy, white chemise did alarm her, however. Not just because it was embarrassing, but because Leyla knew a secret that would rock most families to the core.
Her son was an amazing boy. He was a well-behaved, polite, straight-A, 18-year-old student, who loved reading and video games; despite not having very many real-life friends to play them with. Then, almost overnight, the teen sprouted five inches, became moody, brooding, and started spending a lot more time in the bathroom.
Being a late bloomer wasn't all bad for Adrian. He tried out for the wrestling team and quickly got promoted to varsity; he ditched his childish wardrobe in favor of more adult, stylish apparel; and he also began attending the school events he used to avoid, like Homecoming and the Winter Formal. That said, Leyla had made some disturbing realizations. Where most kids who reached adulthood had outgrown some of the worst urges of adolescence, her son's raging hormones seemed to rule over him. He could no longer be trusted around her laundry. She had lost four pairs of panties and two of her favorite lace 32B bras in the last few months. At first, she assumed his overactive imagination and libido were using her things to fantasize about other girls in a healthy manner. One day she borrowed his computer, however, and saw the history was filled with incest erotic porn and literature.
She convinced herself that though it was concerning, many teens probably enjoyed the fantasy of taboo without having any actual attraction to their relatives. Leyla had to stop making excuses for her son since that night after getting home from dinner with her husband. Still damp from a shower, she slipped into a silk kimono and strayed from her room to the kitchen for a glass of water. Passing the living room, she spotted Adrian staring at her chest like he had X-ray vision. The look in his eye made her feel uncomfortable.
"Adrian?" she asked nervously. "What are you doing looking at me like that?"
His face turned red, then he stammered something incoherently and rushed to his room. She never brought it up again, though she made a conscious effort to keep her attire conservative and 'Mom-ified' whenever Adrian was present.
Even though he had developed an unhealthy crush on her, he was still her son, and she would always love him. All she needed to do was wait for the phase to pass. She rationalized keeping the truth away from his father because she worried that Peter might not be as understanding. Peter was the type of man that acted as if he had never been a teenager. He worked tirelessly, running multiple branches of a debt collection agency, traveled often, and rarely took time off work. When they did have sex, it was usually hurried and unfulfilling, but despite the lack of intimacy, Leyla was a faithful wife and was quick to excuse her husband's faults, just like her son's.
As if on cue, Peter's phone buzzed loudly on the table.
"That's work, I have to run." Peter popped up and kissed Leyla goodbye.
"But your eggs are almost ready." Leyla tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice.
Peter was too preoccupied by the text to console his wife. He was already marching toward the garage when Leyla heard another pair of clopping feet coming down the steps of the carpeted staircase. Adrian ambled in a moment later. His hair was disheveled and there were dark circles under his eyes. He slouched down in the seat across from where Peter's coffee still sat, untouched.
"You okay?" Leyla asked gently. He had been out late last night, and she was guessing he was hungover.
Adrian nodded glumly, rubbing at his temples. "I'm fine."
Leyla decided not to push the issue further and pulled the omelet pan off the burner. She set it aside and poured a glass of orange juice for her son.
"Here ya go," she announced, turning around with a plate of eggs and a pearly white smile like some vintage 50s housewife. The words died in her throat as Adrian looked up from his hands and locked gazes with his mother's scantily clad breasts. For a split second, Leyla felt like a deer caught in headlights, frozen in place as Adrian stared unabashedly at her tits.
"Oh, uhm, thanks Mom," Adrian mumbled, returning his gaze to his food.
Leyla felt her cheeks go crimson. How in God's name had she forgotten about her clothing, or really, lack thereof, again? Was she really this absentminded?
"Sit up and eat this. You need to stay hydrated today," she insisted, placing the plate and glass in front of Adrian. She needed to go change, but her feet suddenly felt like they were set in stone.
Adrian took a fork and began scarfing the omelet down. Leyla urged her body to exit the kitchen, but her bare feet remained planted on the porcelain tile. If that wasn't enough, she felt her hand, as if possessed by a spirit, move to her neck, and begin teasing a loose curl of her wavy auburn hair.
'This is crazy!'
Leyla tried desperately to shake free of whatever spell had overtaken her. It didn't help that Adrian kept casting glances to her exposed cleavage with the subtlety of a hungry lion.
"Mom. Why are you dressed like that?" The athletic teenager asked, after swallowing another mouthful of breakfast.
"Uhm, oh gosh. Adr...uhhh..." Leyla stuttered, trying to find the right words to explain why she was wearing nothing but a thin cotton chemise. Something was very off. She couldn't move freely; she couldn't speak. Was she having a stroke? Leyla desperately wanted her son to stop gawking at her like she was a stripper.
"Oh, this little thing. You like it? I wore it for you."
If Leyla had control of her body, her eyes would have bulged out of their sockets in shocked mortification. Had her ears deceived her? Had that really come out of her mouth?
Adrian dropped his fork and was now staring at her intently.
'Nonononono
.' Leyla had to get away, but the next thing she knew, she was standing behind Adrian with her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, pressing her face into his long, thick, tawny brown locks. The smell of his citrus shampoo wafted through her nostrils causing her to swoon slightly. Her heart raced wildly, and her skin tingled with excitement. What was happening to her?! She could feel her thinly veiled breasts squishing against her son.
"Mom?" Adrian exclaimed in surprise. When Leyla didn't let go, he tried pulling from her embrace.
"MOM!?" Adrian repeated louder, his voice cracking slightly. This was definitely not normal behavior for her. He bristled, feeling his mother's warm breath against his neck.
'Let GO!!'
Leyla shouted inside her own skull. She was struggling in vain to regain control of her limbs, but it only seemed to make her squeeze her son tighter. '
No no NO!'
She had to leave the kitchen immediately, call her husband, go to the emergency room, but not even her eyes would obey her commands. She wished desperately that Peter had not left early.
Finally, after what felt like hours, she felt her arms slacken as she leaned forward and whispered into Adrian's ear, "Your father is gone."
The words reverberated throughout Leyla's mind and with them a familiar burning sensation erupted between her legs. '
Oh god. No!'
She could see the outline of her son's cock growing more defined as the rigid tube swelled in his drawstring shorts. She couldn't look away. Her nipples hardened like two fresh cherries as she realized just how destructive this was to the boundaries that she had worked diligently on establishing with her only child. After trying to reestablish herself as his caring mother, and not a sexual entity, here she was, practically molesting her own son.
'Adrian this isn't me! I need help! I'm not doing this! Please, baby, call your father. I'm not in control!'
Leyla's mind reeled.
