It is incredible, how one Moment of a lifetime, one tiny fragment, one seemingly random happening, can change a life so completely, or give a meaning, a purpose, from that Moment on.
One of mine was when I was about six and a half years old. I happened to pass my parents' bedroom door as I walked down the hall. As I passed, I looked up, and through a small crack, in the not completely closed door; I saw a vision that would be with me from then on.
We were supposed to be getting ready for some party, and my Mom was getting dressed after her bath. This was in the days, when nylons were two separate articles, with that erotic seam down the back. My Mom was sitting on the very edge of the bed, leaning over to pull up one of these stockings, reaching both hands down to her foot. She had not yet put on her bra, and her large beautiful breasts were hanging freely, in all their splendor. The sight was like a rare painting, mixing a plethora of feeling into one view. The pristine purity of "the Madonna" image, mixed with the eroticism a voyeuristic picture of natural sensuality was way beyond my years' possibility of understanding.
I stood; glued to the spot, not really understanding all the feelings my body was going through. I knew I shouldn't be peeking, but the sight had me mesmerized. I was awash in the beauty of the Moment; the sight of my beautiful Mother's breasts in the natural, un fettered pose was overwhelming. I watched as she rolled the second stocking up her shapely leg, and stood to continue her dressing. As she stood, my heart fluttered as I saw her breasts' movement. She turned to pick up her bra that she had placed on the bed, and in so doing, saw me standing there. She saw me staring at her, and she smiled. Her smile made that Moment even more special, until my father's angry voice broke my spell, "What do you think you're doing?"
Before he could reach me, I ran down the hall, into my room, and jumped face first onto my bed. I heard my Mom's voice, "Please, leave him alone, it's alright, he wasn't bothering me, he is just curious."
So, through the following years, I did everything I could, to try to recapture this Moment, through many intricate, and almost subversive plans. Every chance I got, I was affectionate to my Mother, and gloried in each and every contact, especially her wonderful hugs, where she would bring me into that wonderful promised land of her bosom.
One of my favorite things, was during my father's frequent and lengthy business trips, was to feign nightmares, and crawl into my Mother's bed. I reveled in her concerned snuggles to quell my "fear". I loved pretending to sleep, to wait for her slow, rhythmic breathing to signify her slumber, and would turn to watch her breasts follow this pattern.
When I was sure she was asleep, I would do a practiced, pretend sleep turn, and place a hand on one of her breasts, loving the warm feel of it, through her skimpy nightgown. Sometimes, my sneakiness was rewarded with her nipples hardening in my caress. I loved the feel of them hardening against my touch. As I grew older, I grew bolder in these caresses, and was glad my Mom never awoke, or at least that is what I thought.
When I got too old for these nocturnal adventures in pubescent plundering, I had to find other ways to feed my now growing desires. By this time my parents had split, my Mother finally giving up the hope that my father would lighten up some, and become the lover her body and self had fallen in love with during the post war days of their early marriage. Neither she, nor I could understand his indifference to this beautiful creature, who wanted him to satisfy her maturing desires. But I had selfish joy in seeing his departure. Many nights, as I lay awake after masturbating with lustful thoughts of my Mother, I could hear her crying in her bedroom. With the tables turned, it was now me who went to her to console her with hugs. But she always gently pushed me away, when my "hugs" started turning a little too heated. She never said anything, but the look in her eyes, told me not to press, at least for now.
The night of my eighteenth birthday, after the party my Mom had thrown for our family (her parents, brother and sister) my Mom was astounded that I was not going out with friends. "Such a handsome and sexy young man, should be the goal of many young girls."
"Aw, Mom," I said, not wanting to tell her, there was no way any girl my own age could arouse my desires. My obsession with my fantasies concerning my Mother, had kept me quite shy with the girls throughout my school career, and to tell the truth, I really didn't care.
Then, came the day of my high school graduation. Mom and I were getting ready, I had let her shower first, and as I left the bathroom after my shower (and another great cum, whacking off to those wondrous thoughts of Mom), I walked by Mom's room, and low and behold, the door was slightly ajar. De ja Vu, all over again (I heard the Yog's voice in my mind). There was Mom, her back to me, tying back her freshly shampooed hair into that shoulder length ponytail I loved so much. Once again, I was afforded a wonderful view of my Mom's pendulous breasts, hanging freely, in their opulent glory, for my eyes to feast upon. My arousal was instantaneous, my hardon growing to the point it undid the towel that I had loosely wrapped around me after my shower. So, there we were, my Mother, seemingly oblivious to what her unwitting "show" was doing to her own son.
With my eyes, once again glued to her breasts, and my hand furiously pumping my rock hard cock, I did not see the reflection of my Mom's eyes in the mirror. Her eyes were staring at her beautiful son's gorgeous cock, as it spurt its heady cream in her honor.
My lust Momentarily subsided, I opened my eyes and hurriedly picked up my towel, stopping only to quickly wipe off my spent lust from Mom's door. I didn't stop to look, as I hurried away from my Mom's door, down the hall, and into my room, to dress for the ceremony.
