He was so shy; I mean, at nineteen he looked physically like a boy of fifteen; you know all gangly arms and legs. He just didn't seem to have matured at a nice even rate. Intellectually he was fine; came out of his school years near the top and was currently doing tertiary studies in chemistry, but as for the rest of him? It didn't seem normal, and when other boys were starting to copulate with the girls, or each other for that matter, Ben showed not the slightest interest in either gender.
I suppose there was a bit of female ego involved plus a bit of guilt. Ego because I felt that the male should always be in pursuit of the female, or if not at least one of his own gender, and as a mother I didn't want my boy to be different. Guilt because having booted his father out when Ben was six I hadn't let any other men into the place to serve as a role model for Ben.
I'd read somewhere that role models are important. If some of our male relatives had been living close handy Ben might have been influenced by one of them, but none did live near. Of course, he might have found his role model in one of his teachers or someone in the church, but it didn't seem to happen.
The other thing was, being sexually passionate myself I found it hard to understand someone who wasn't, especially after experiencing some of the men I'd had sexual relationships with. Well there you are, another source of motherly guilt; I could have set up more or less permanently with one of those lovers, God knows some of them begged me to often enough.
One of them especially, a young minister who was appointed to our church for a while; he became an enthusiastic "pastoral" visitor to our place when Ben wasn't around. I thought that guy would fuck me to death at times. He was so good in bed I almost decided to enter the marital condition with him, but then decided I didn't fancy the ecclesiastical life style, and then he got transferred to a church in another state, and that was the end of that.
To get back to Ben and the story. When he was around sixteen I was so concerned about him I hauled him off for psychological tests. According to the psychologist it was me who had the problem.
"Good God, what do you expect," he said, " we don't all mature at the same rate. Intellectually he's outstanding, it's just that he's slower to mature in other areas of his life, just give him time. What I can see at the moment is an anxious mother not a problem son."
So that seemed to be that and I relaxed and tried to be the understanding mother. That worked fine for a while, but by the time he got to eighteen and he still showed no signs of an interest in sex, I started to get concerned again. It just didn't seem normal to me. I might have asked myself what "normal" is, but as I have implied, having such a powerful libido myself I just couldn't understand why Ben didn't.
That seems to be one of our human problems, measuring others by our own standards. Now I have to admit that Ben was a bit of a mother's boy. I suppose our being so much together, and I having been the sole parent to bring him up, we tended to be heavily dependent on each other emotionally.
It was during his eighteenth year that I came to realise that Ben was not entirely without interest in women. There was one woman that he did relate to, me. I knew, of course, that a boy's introduction to the female world was usually through his mother, and I started to wonder if I had played my part properly in his development in this regard.
I had heard that some sons had a lifetime devotion to their mothers, and I also knew about how sometimes that devotion became physical in the sexual sense, when some mothers decided they would initiate their sons into their sexual life. In keeping with what I took to be the majority view on these matters, I had thought rather disparagingly about mothers who allowed and even encouraged their sons to have sex with them.
Have you noticed how often once a thought is set in motion it seems to grow and develop? That's what happened to me. The more I thought about it the more I began to wonder if my initiating Ben into his sex life might in fact help his development in that area.
I knew that if I was going to do something like that I would have to move cautiously; one false or hurried move might destroy the relationship we had. I would have to be constantly testing the situation until I felt I was getting a clear signal from Ben that he was interested.
I began with our usual physical contact and, as it were, developed or expanded it a little. The good morning and good night kiss that lingered just a little longer; my body pressed just a little closer to him; trying to see how he responded; did he return the body pressure; did his pupils dilate, and could I see any sign of an erection?
I had not been in the habit of being sparsely clad in his presence, but I gradually took to wearing more revealing clothes. I even went to the lengths of buying some clothes that would allow him to see more of me; this despite the fact that I had never needed to use this sort of lure with my lovers.
I thought I could see and feel him beginning to respond, but he was so incredibly reticent that at times I felt like giving up the attempt. Then I started to discover that I had, as people say, been "Hoist by my own Petard." I had thought my purpose was objective, namely, to get my son interested in sex, but now it had become subjective; I started to become interested in getting him to have sex with me for my sake. In short, I started to really fancy him.
It occurred to me that having my own son's penis in me, returning as it were to the place through which he had entered the world; to feel him there and experience his sperm filling me, would be truly delightful; the fulfilment of a close mother and son relationship.
My close physical contact with him became even closer and the embraces lasted even longer. I appeared more often in front of him wearing revealing clothes, letting him get glimpses of my breasts and thighs. I even went to the extent of getting rid of my current lover so as to concentrate all my sexual energy on Ben.
Now deprived of sexual gratification my fantasies about Ben grew ever wilder. He would experience me and then be unable to do without me; I would give him whatever he wanted; everything a woman can give to a man; we would go on as lovers for the rest of our lives; he would even make me pregnant, if at thirty nine that was still possible.
I knew the fantasies were just fantasies, and it might never work out like that, but they had me in their grip and would not let go.
During the evenings it was Ben's habit to work at his studies in his room, and then as bedtime approached he would join me in the living room for a while. It was then I put the most pressure on him; leaning against him; touching his face and hair; even giving him soft kisses on his lips, while we talked about the day or some other topic. It was also the time when I tried to let him see as much of my body as possible, without being actually naked.
Throughout these evenings I watched him closely, looking for any signs that he might be repulsed or attracted. He certainly showed no signs of being repulsed, and to my joy he began to show clear signs that he was being aroused. Muffled as it was by his jeans I could definitely see his erections.
I knew he would be far too diffident to make a move, and that it would be up to me. Being driven myself to the most agonising states of arousal the moment came when I decided on the final step. I was in such a state that it had to be that, or stop my sexual teasing altogether.
That evening I selected a garment he had not seen me in before. It was a black negligee that simply wrapped across the front and was held together by a strip of clothes. I omitted panties and bras so that I was completely naked under the negligee.
I was in a hell of a state long before Ben arrived on the scene, my vagina lubricating copiously and nipples erect. I sat on the divan, our usual place for late evening hugging. The television set was on and they were showing some old film. I was so worked up and almost unable to keep still, I don't think saw any of that film.
There were moments when I was tempted to rush to his room and say, "For God's sake Ben, make love with me, I can't stand it anymore." However, I managed to restrain myself.
At last he came in. I extended my arms and said, "Come and cuddle me, darling."
He hesitated for a moment, staring at me, then in a choking sort of voice he said, "That looks nice."
"What does, darling?"
"That thing you're wearing."
I could see, even before I touched him, all the signs were there. His pupils dilated; his tongue as it flicked over his lips; above all his rising manhood.
