Authors note; this is a work of fiction, and all characters are eighteen years or older.
*****
She stood in her bedroom, holding up and inspecting the white dress she was planning to wear that night. The expression on her face showed that she wasn't all that optimistic about her prospects for the evening.
She was a tall, blonde "MILF" with large breasts and full hips, dressed merely in a demi-bra and matching thong panties. She undid the zipper, then slipped into the dress, pulling the synthetic material seductively up and over her hips and well proportioned ass. The fabric strained to its breaking point, as the skintight dress did little to hide her womanly figure. She was just as sexy donning the dress as you'd imagine she'd have been stripping out of it.
From the adjacent hallway, almost out of view, a young redheaded man stood watching the whole process; the bedroom door being slightly ajar. The look of illicit lust was evident on his face, and also evident was that he was most certainly a peeping Tom.
"Oh honey," the woman said as she turned around noticing the young man. "How long have you been there?"
"Not long," he lied and entered the room.
"Oh good, you can zip me up."
But instead of zipping her up, the two sat down on the bed and started to talk. They were supposed to be mother and son, and though the woman was the right age, the "boy" was definitely older than purported.
Their conversation consisted mostly of how she was disappointed in the boy's father, and the young man agreed with her, asking her why she put up with such a sad excuse for a husband.
The young man then put forward his case on how he should be the one to take care of her. She was beautiful and alluring, he stated, and he was more than willing to take care of her needs. His intent was compelling and not the least bit disguised. She knew exactly what he meant.
He started to push her back on the bed, and she resisted at first, but then she relented and reclined on the bed, letting him spread her legs, hike up her dress, and then, after pulling her panties aside, he buried his face into his mother's crotch.
Later, she started to get up again and resist her son's advances, but he pushed her face first into the bed, and proceeded to tongue her asshole. He then quickly disrobed, and before she could change her mind again, he lined himself up and penetrated her from behind.
Though the look on her face was as if he was punishing her, she obviously liked it, because she let him fuck her without protest. Soon they were in a missionary position and the young man was fucking his mother rapidly and with ardor, her large breasts bouncing to and fro as he thrust into her.
A noise startled me from the scene, and I immediately closed the lid of my laptop. The noise apparently came from my parent's room down the hall, and I was afraid that it might be my mother, but after a few moments of silence, I raised the lid again and watched the "mother and son" going at it like two star crossed lovers.
The woman's name in real life was Jodi West and she was my favorite porn star. Her specialty was "incest porn", but that wasn't the most remarkable thing about her, since quite a few porn stars were exploring the same subject in their films. The remarkable thing about her, as far as I was concerned, was that she had a passing resemblance to my own mother.
I'm not saying that they could be mistaken for twins, and if you put them side by side, you could tell that they were two different women, but still, the resemblance was there.
They also had the same shoulder length blonde hair with dark roots, and same body type. Both had large tits, womanly hips, and a nice ass, though Jodi's was getting a little flat from age.
It might sound strange that I noticed, but they both had freckles on their arms, and across their chests. So whenever I saw the splash of freckles across my mother's cleavage, I thought of Jodi West, and when I was watching a porn video and saw that same splash of freckles across Jodi West's tits, I thought of my mom.
Once, when I was in the hallway at school, and I was approaching a woman from behind, I said to myself, "Oh my God, it's Jodi West." Imagine my surprise when the woman turned around and it was my mother who had gotten off work early to pick me up.
I looked up from watching the porn video to glance at a picture that was above my desk. It was an innocent enough picture of my family posing on the beach during a family vacation. My older sister and father on one side, and my mom and me, arm in arm, on the other.
The picture was taken back in better times, before my father lost his middle management job. He found another soon after, but not for nearly the same pay. We never go on expensive trips like that anymore.
At the time when I posted the picture on my wall, I was only twelve years old, and I honestly hung it up innocently, but you see, that was when my mother still wore bikinis, and upon seeing it on my wall for the first time, my mother commented that maybe it wasn't the best picture to put up in my bedroom.
"I look fat," she used as an excuse.
What she was trying to say was that maybe it wasn't the most appropriate picture, but being slow on the uptake, I kept it. She looked fine I thought. Now, though it causes a strange conflict in me, I'm glad I left it on my wall. She looked amazing in that little navy blue bikini, her tits busting out of her bra. The picture, as the saying goes, was one of my guilty pleasures.
Many a time, mostly after watching some Jodie West porn, I would take that picture to bed, fantasizing about how my mom would look naked, and jacking off to those images in my head. Afterwards, I felt guilty and dirty about my incestuous fantasies, but that didn't stop me from doing it all over again after I watched yet another Jodi West video.
My gaze reluctantly shifted from my mother in a bikini to my alarm clock. It was twenty-eight minutes after midnight, not normally late for an eighteen year old to be up on a Friday night, but my 7:45 wake up call loomed ominously over my head like Damocles' Sword.
All of the vexation that I had been trying to escape by watching porn came rushing back like a tidal wave. You see, I was scheduled to pitch the next morning for my high school baseball team, and it was a playoff game.
All the worries: don't give their number four batter, Rodriguez, anything over the plate or he'll go yard. All of the strategy: how should I pitch to a lefty with a man on first? And all of the regret; my last performance wasn't up to par, and when I left the game, it was tied in the sixth.
I had gone to bed earlier that night at 11:30, but I just laid there with my thoughts whirling through my mind like a vortex. There was no way I was going to get any sleep: I was too pent up.
Just then, as I wondered if I was ever going to get to sleep, I heard footsteps in the hall, and then the door to the bathroom closing. It had to be my mother, I thought: my dad's footsteps were far too heavy. Especially on a Friday night, when he's had a six pack.
I turned off the video, then clicked on Internet Explorer and Google came up on the screen. I went to Youtube and started to search for something more innocent to watch.
Again the bathroom door opened, but instead of the footsteps receding down the hall back to my parent's room, like I assumed they would, they came in my direction. I shifted in my seat and watched as the door to my bedroom opened and my mother walked in.
She was dressed for bed in a pair of gym shorts and a long sleeve Henley. But these weren't normal, baggy gym shorts, no they were skin tight, like yoga shorts or something.
And the shirt that she wore that was also skin tight, the cotton fabric wrapped around her breasts like cellophane over two ripe, juicy melons, her nipples playing peek-a-boo through the material. Obviously she wasn't wearing a bra.
The tee shirt had about ten buttons instead of the usual three, and more than half of them were undone, showing off some incredible cleavage that I tried not to look at.
Her hair, done up in a bun, was bed worn and coming askew, strands of blonde hair spraying this way and that. She looked unkempt but very cute.
"Are you still up?" She asked accusingly.
"Yeah, I couldn't sleep."
"But the big game is tomorrow?"
"I know mom. I know the big game is tomorrow. Reminding me that the big game is tomorrow is not helping."
"I know honey, but this game is very important for your scholarship."
"Again, not helping."
She rolled her eyes and cocked her head in frustration. "Come sit," she said and tapped the bed beside her as she sat down on it. I got up out of my desk seat and sat next to her on the bed. I got just a trace of her perfume as she sidled up next to me and put an arm around me.
"I'm sorry Hon," she started, "but you know the situation your father and I are in. You're sister's already in college, and that's costing us a bundle, even with the partial ride she's getting because of volleyball.
"You need to get that scholarship if you want to go to that fancy school you've been talking about."
"I know mom. That's one of the reasons I can't get to sleep. If I screw up tomorrow, I can kiss that scholarship goodbye."
"What you need to do is relax, get your mind off the game."
"Easier said than done."
"How come Olivia didn't come over tonight?"
Olivia was my girlfriend, and usually, before a big game she would come over and when my parents went to bed, she and I would... well you know.
