The Setchboo

"No really, you shouldn't have," I said dully as I examined the sketchbook. "I haven't drawn anything since college, Jack."

"Oh come on, it's not like you have to submit them for grading or anything," my husband replied. "Just have some fun with it. You used to love drawing."

"What do you think, Steven?" I asked, my eyes turning to my eighteen year old son.

"I say it's a great present, especially since it was my idea to get it for you," he answered with a puckish grin. "Seriously though, Mom, I know you get bored sometimes at home, and you used to be a bit of an artist in school, so why not?"

"Well, I suppose I might scratch something in there once in a while, but I doubt I really have the itch to get into it again," I said. "I do appreciate the sentiment though."

For the next few weeks, I barely touched my sketchbook. Not that I didn't have the time, in fact, as Jack and Steven had pointed out, I was often bored staying at home. Jack ran a small business and Steven was engrossed with school and playing sports and somewhere along the line I had been left out. I had a few friends I spent time with, but ever since my best friend Amy had moved away I didn't socialize all that much. I had tried to become involved with Jack's work, but if anything I was more of a hindrance to him than an asset. Besides, I could tell he'd rather I not be around. Knowing that hurt me a bit at first, but later I merely accepted it as being the byproduct of being married twenty years. He needed his space and, I suppose, I needed mine too.

We didn't have much of a sex life either, but that was OK with me as neither of us seemed to have much of a sex drive these days anyway. I admit, however, once in a while I'd get extremely horny. Sometimes Jack would be around for those times, but usually I'd have to take care of matters myself. Once again, that didn't bother me though. That's sort of the routine we settled into, and for the most part it was comfortable, albeit mundane.

After a few days and some pestering from my husband about not drawing anything, I decided to get out a pencil and draw a few sketches. At the very least, I thought, a few drawings might make him happy. And so I went out in my garden one summer's day and drew a sketch of my flowerbed. Nothing fancy; in fact, it was a rather poor drawing. Feeling somewhat embarrassed by this weak effort I drew a sketch of a plum tree in our backyard. A much better result, but my skills had definitely deteriorated over the years. Still, it would probably be enough to make my husband content, so I put the book away. Later that night, Jack looked at my drawings. He wasn't as thrilled as I had expected -- I suppose he had been feigning interest before for my sake -- but nevertheless he said he was glad to see I'd found something to occupy my time.

A week later I saw that a robin had taken nest in the tree, and feeling surprisingly motivated set out to grab my sketchbook and pencils. And this is where my story goes asunder, for I don't know quite how to explain what happened next or why. On my way back to the yard I looked up and caught the sight of my son Steven walking on the second floor of our house. He was going into the bathroom, and to my complete astonishment he was completely naked. Later I would manage to piece together enough information to understand what had happened. It was harmless, really. Steven had taken a shower and needed a towel and, not wanting to put his soiled clothes again over his wet body, decided to get a towel from the closet down the hall. Steven hadn't realized I was home, so he made no attempt to cover up. In fact, Steven hadn't even noticed me when I saw him.

I had several emotions run through me at that moment, enough so that it's difficult to describe. I suppose the easiest one to put into words was shock. I guess that's perfectly understandable considering the circumstances. But, for some reason, even long after it had happened the image of my naked son wouldn't go away.

At first I tried to dismiss it as misplaced pride. You see, not only was Steven a wonderful son, but he had grown up to be quite handsome. At roughly 6' tall and 185 lbs., Steven was quite strong, rugged, and fit. And with an engaging smile and gentle eyes he had no problems gaining the attention of most girls. It was clearly more than that, however, because even long after the moment had passed the image still lingered in my mind. Moreover, I felt a heat that made my skin flush red with excitement. I went back into my yard and tried to forget what had happened by sketching the robin. The quality of the sketch was awful, however, and in the anger of having being distracted this way I tore the page from the sketchbook and threw it away.

I didn't touch the sketchbook for another week, and my overall morale was low enough that Steven became aware of it. He asked me what was wrong, but of course I couldn't discuss it with him... or anyone. Unfortunately, things only managed to get more complicated.

"Mom, I was wondering if you'd draw me," Steven asked.

"What?" I said, sounding more apprehensive than I should have. "Why?"

"I dunno, I just thought it might be cool to have a picture drawn of me," he replied. "Anyway, I noticed you haven't added anything to your sketchbook lately."

There was an awkward moment of silence between us and then Steven piped up, "Come on, it'll be fun." He was smiling, looking as bright and handsome as ever.

"Oh, all right," I smiled back faintly, giving in. It wasn't as if Steven had done anything that deserved punishment, and besides, I was probably being silly about all of this.

Steven stood in front of a small table with his back to it. He then leaned back so he was half sitting on it, with his legs on the floor crossed at the ankle and his hands casually holding the tabletop for support. I set up my things and began drawing. The finished product looked awful, even taking into account any rustiness my skills my have gathered over the years. Truthfully, I felt nervous drawing Steven after the incident from before. In fact, I had a hard time even looking at my son without thinking about that day. Of course, that wasn't anything I could tell him though.

"Sorry dear," I frowned. "It's been a long time since I've drawn anyone and I guess my skills have deteriorated since then. I'll just leave it for now and maybe I can work on it later on."

Later that day I went back to my sketchbook and attempted to fix my drawing of Steven. I hadn't really intended upon trying again, but Steven seemed genuinely disappointed at how it had turned out and I thought I should at least try to fix it. I knew what the problem was though; it wasn't my skills that were failing me but rather my nerves. Or more specifically, it was my guilt. Seeing my son naked the other day had stirred an unexpected attraction towards him in me, one that I was both unable and unwilling to deal with, and my anxiety had gotten to the point where I couldn't even sit and draw a simple portrait of him anymore. It made me start to wonder if I had any other repressed desires concerning Steven that I couldn't check.

"You're just being silly," I told myself finally. Moreover, if I didn't find a way to channel these feelings properly it would eventually distract me to the point where it really might become a serious problem, or worse yet, Steven and Jack would start asking me questions I wouldn't be able to answer.

Drawing a portrait of someone I was attracted to had always produced erotic feelings in me, nothing sleazy, just stimulating. It had never bothered me to release those sensual emotions into my work before; in fact I had occasionally became very aroused in my younger days when drawing a sketch of a young man I fancied. I had never felt guilty about these emotions before, even if I when involved in a romantic relationship with someone else. But this time it was my own son having this effect on me, and the guilt had been so bad my hand practically shook when I tried to sketch him. After giving it some thought I decided that the best thing to do was release these emotions but to do so in a controlled environment. And with that I went back to my makeshift studio (i.e. the guest bedroom) and started drawing again.

It took some doing, but I was finally able to get over my anxiety, and once I did so I was rewarded with a strikingly radiant portrait of Steven into my sketchbook. What I hadn't expected, however, was the extent at which the experience would stir up my passions. It was as if sensuality itself was a river flowing through me. It started from my own body and moved through me like warm honey and out my hand to my pencil before caressing Steven's loving form. The experience had left me in an extremely aroused state, and this time I was well beyond the point where I could simply let it go.

As much as I felt consumed by passion, however, I also felt consumed with guilt. I suppose that's when the need for self-preservation took over, because when weighing the choices of extreme pleasure versus extreme pain, it became clear which direction I would take. And with that I lay back on my bed and brazenly pleasured myself for the better part of the afternoon, having two tremendous orgasms in the process. After it was over the heavy burden of what I had done returned to my conscience, but I knew I could survive it. Besides, I reasoned that it was preferable to deal with my inner demons rather than try to avoid them.

The next day, I showed Steven my drawing, and he was absolutely thrilled with it. He even insisted I show Jack the drawing.

"Really Steven," I said, feeling bashful, "it's not that good."

"Of course it is," he replied, flabbergasted. "I can't believe you're being so modest. We showed it to Jack and he was equally impressed, saying that it rivaled anything I had done from college days. The whole thing felt a bit strange to me, that is, knowing that the outpouring of my sexual desire for my son that had produced something that he and my husband could like so much. Not that I was the type to be embarrassed by such a thing, if only it had been someone than Steven to stir such feelings in me...

"No matter," I thought, "what Steven and Jack don't know won't hurt them."

At Steven's request I sketched him again. And again. At first it was a very awkward. As I said before, it was only when I had allowed myself to lower my defenses that I had felt relaxed enough to draw him properly. The first time I had done this I had been alone, but now Steven stood before me. Could I allow myself to drop my guard with him now posing for me?

"What's wrong, Mom?" Steven asked. "You seem nervous."

"Nothing dear," I lied. Again I felt so tense that my hands were practically shaking. Steven eyed me oddly, not sure what to make of my behavior.

"Relax," I told myself, "relax." I settled down in my chair and began drawing, and slowly my nerves began settling down. The process took time, but I eventually lowered my defenses enough for my emotions to inspire me. It was like settling into a warm bubble bath and allowing the healing qualities of the water seep through and overwhelm me. The odd time my eyes would meet Steven's as I drew and I couldn't help but ponder... could he discern any of what I was feeling? I tried to keep my eyes from staring at him in any way that might divulge my secret, but oftentimes a look or smile from him made me wonder.

In any event, I felt as if an unspoken, sensual connection had formed between Steven and I that day. It felt odd that something could happen like this with my own son, but I simply reasoned at the time that after being married to Jack for so long any new stimulus, even Steven, was bound to be more exciting than what I had now and left it at that. Nevertheless, it wasn't the last time I drew him, and Steven was always more than happy to pose for me. Even though nothing ever took place between us during these sessions, I found myself getting more and more aroused after each one. And I also became more convinced that Steven could sense my excitement.

One day I went to an art supplies store to buy another sketchbook, as the one I had was almost full. Although I appreciated the old book as a gift the truth was it was not very good in quality, and I decided to buy something more in line with my tastes. After some searching I found beautiful leather bound sketchbook. The cover was dyed brown and had a rustic, antique look to it, with a raised lettering type design of leaves, vines and other foliage curling over it. It cost a fair bit more than I had wanted to spend, but after haggling a bit with the shopkeeper I managed to get a reasonable discount if I agreed to buy two.

Part of me knew I shouldn't have made such an agreement, part of me knew I was only trying to rationalize urges that should have remained forbidden, but by this time my passions were too strong for me to always remain rational. You're probably wondering, dear reader, what the significance was of my purchase that day. Simply put, I had always kept my sketchbook in plain sight for my husband or son to look at whenever they wished, which they occasionally did. I planned on doing the same with its replacement. But now I had a second book, one they knew nothing about, and although I fought my instincts for awhile I think I knew from the start what I was going to do with this it. It would serve to capture those emotions I dared on not show my husband or son. In a manner of speaking, the first book was for Jack's wife and Steven's mother, but this was book was for me.

The first drawing I made in my private sketchbook was easy for me to decide upon as the image had been there for weeks, just waiting in the recesses of my mind for me. My mind went back to that innocent yet fateful day when I first realized my son was no longer a boy, the day he had managed to stir up those untold desires in me. Steven was at his most beautiful, natural state, strong and masculine, but not like an angel, and I drew him as such. I drew more sketches as I relived that moment. Some were from different angles, and although I hadn't seen his manhood that day I shamelessly rendered it now, even deciding to draw him as being very well endowed. My hand moved furiously across the paper as I recaptured the moment in my sketchbook, my heart beating wildly as the emotions of that day took hold of me once more. The sensation was as liberating as an orgasm, and before I knew I was having one right then and there.

Over the next few days, I filled the pages of my sketchbook with illustrations of my inner desires, and my drawings of my son shone brightly with erotic imagery and themes. It might sound silly considering everything that had happened thus far, but it still took more time for me to take that last step of putting my deepest fantasy to paper, but eventually it came out too. I suppose up until that point a physical rendering had been a bit too much for my conscience to bear, but one day my horniness got the best of me and I began to draw.

The first drawing was simple enough, one of Steven and I in a tight embrace. It had some subtle erotic overtones, but probably not enough to raise much suspicion, as it might not be too strange to see any mother and son holding each other this way. But then I drew the same picture again, and this time Steven was in the nude. Also, the countenance of our faces was clearly that of two lovers in a state of rapture. I drew us this way again, but this time Steven was in front of me with my body pressing into his from behind. He was also sporting an enormous erection that I held in one of my hands as if I was masturbating him.

The drawings continued, and finally I gained enough courage to draw a series where we were both naked. Even though I had pictured this in my thoughts many times before, seeing an actual drawing of my son and I naked together was strange. Strange, but exhilarating. It was a much slower process to move the erotic themes forward on paper than it had been to do in my mind, but in a way I savored the experience like a lover who is nervous but thrilled as she explores her partner for the first time.

I was now covered in a sheen of sweat from the excitement pouring though me as I drew and drew. At first I only had Steven and I holding hands as we looked into each eyes longingly. I quickly continued with more drawings, however; the sexual content getting stronger with each one. After a few more I drew one of us in a lover's embrace, our mouths exploring each other's in the of passion of a French kiss. Another had Steven's head sucking hard on one of my nipples as I stroked his hard cock with my hand. I had never drawn anything pornographic before, but the erotic images of Steven and I were so intoxicating that I couldn't help myself now. I spent the rest of the day drawing these dirty pictures, the carnal energy burning through me like lava from a volcano. I drew picture after picture of my son and I masturbating each other with our hands and mouths; picture after picture of my son and I in an assortment of positions as we fervently made love. In the following weeks and months I would retrieve my sketchbook from it's hiding place so that I could add another drawing to my collection. More often then not, however, I would use these images to bring myself to an earth-shattering climax.

More time passed, and many changes in my life took place. For one thing, Steven had moved away to go to college. The next change came a few months later as my husband and I separated. It was a mutual decision, mostly amicable, and much like our marriage, utterly dispassionate. Steven came back home for a week to comfort me until I insisted he go back and finish the school year. He then came back home for the summer and stayed in his old room while working a summer job. I must admit my new feelings for my son made me feel more odd than familiar having him at home with me again. In many ways, it was better than old times though, as we seemed to connect on much more intimate level than we had before, and my feelings as an adult for Steven blossomed into something that I didn't anticipate.

At first I thought Steven was only spending more time with me to console me after my separation, but as time went on I started to suspect it was something more. His glances at me were always slightly more than casual; his embraces always seemed to carry some unspoken feelings that went beyond what a son should have for his mother. His lavishing me with comments on about my appearance also appeared to go much farther than a young man trying to boost an older woman's ego. If Steven hadn't been my son I'd have sworn he was flirting with me. It felt strange, but exhilarating, and for the first time in years I felt like pursuing those types of emotions, even if they were for my own son. I was coy at first, but little by little I began returning his affections. It led to some awkward moments between us, but more and more now I began to entertain the serious possibility of Steven as my lover. And with the two of us alone every night in a big, empty house... the possibility of something happening seemed more real than ever before. The new school year came first however, and before I knew it Steven was gone again. We still corresponded by telephone and mail, but even with the distance between us I became even more certain that his feelings were more than a son would have for his mother.

Christmas came, and Steven came back for the Holidays, and once again I could sense a feeling of electricity between us. He had grown into such a handsome, charming young man I doubt many girls could resist him. When I asked him about girlfriends however, he would always say the same thing, that no one could ever replace me in his heart. The funny thing is, the more he said it, the more it sounded like Steven wasn't just deflecting the question or trying to flatter me.