Author's note: This is a work of fiction and, as such, does not reflect any actual events. Character resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. If depictions of any form of non- or semi-consensual sex offends or bothers you in any way, perhaps consider that the phrase "Reader Discretion Advised" may apply to you. The author does not condone any of his demented fantasies being played out in reality unless all parties involved are of legal age, sound mind and fully agreeable to the scenario beforehand. Please, remember it's just a story and try to not take it too seriously. Thanks for reading and happy fapping!
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I confess I've only recently lost my virginity. Really recently. As in, just last weekend. It was such an utterly insane experience and I can't tell anyone about it for real. No one could possibly believe me, and if anyone did believe me, my family would disown me and it would ruin my life forever. So I'm just going to make a post on the internet through an anonymous account. None of you will think it's real anyway, so I feel safe telling the whole truth. Here's the story of how I had sex with my own mother.
First, I suppose, I should give you a bit about myself. I'll say my name is Jim. I want to lie and describe myself as a smooth, cool ladies man with a winning boyish smile, the body of a teen Adonis and a dick so big it would make a porn-star jealous. I want to say that I've had at least a dozen girlfriends and know my way around a pussy like a lesbian. But, sadly, I'm just a plain, normal, slightly out-of-shape, reasonably decent-looking guy. My dick is a bit bigger than average when it's hard, about six or seven inches long and thick enough that my fingers only just touch when I grip it, but it's what you'd call a grow-er, not a show-er. Soft it looks something like a wad of gum that's fallen into a wastebasket at a barber's shop. It's probably part of why I don't feel very confident with girls. I dread them seeing me relaxed and naked. I do have the nice smile, though.
I live in a tiny, one-horse mid-western farm town that's finally grown big enough to qualify for a second horse, but still isn't big enough for a Red Lobster. I'm almost nineteen years old and because I'm something of a nerdy gamer stereotype, I've never been very good with girls. I'm a very average five-foot-nine inches tall and while I do have a bit of a belly, I'm not really fat...I just don't like exercise very much. Thankfully, I don't really eat much, either. I'm pretty pale because I don't go out often. I have short, dark brown hair I wear parted on the left and dark brown eyes that have never needed glasses. I got my dad's squashed nose and quirky sense of humor and my mom's small hands, elvish ears and penchant for sunburns.
I like to wear blue jeans and tee shirts and cheap sneakers with velcro instead of laces. Normal in almost every way physically, I do not stand out in a crowd at all. And, honestly, I kind of like it that way. Most people in my hometown don't like comic books and video games and Dungeons and Dragons like I do, so my circle of friends is small and tight. We've known each other since grade school pretty much and have kept ourselves mostly insulated from normal folks. Normal folks don't care about the quality of arcade ports, or covet the Wand of Orcus or know why they should always carry a towel. And we find tractors and touchdowns and twangy music mind-numbingly boring.
I'm not a total sad dweebie loser, however. I did have a girlfriend. In tenth grade. For a couple of months. Sarah Everstone was a pretty, if mousy little blonde with big glasses, small, perky tits and long, tight skirts that sat in front of me in math and was the student council secretary. Her dad was a security guard for one of the local grade schools and her mom sold Amway or Mary Kay or something like that. We used to study together and just sort of agreed without really saying anything that we were dating after I starting coming to her house to work on our algebra equations and she'd kiss my cheek when I left. We'd walk together in the halls holding hands and hang out at lunchtime or in the library and she'd let me copy her notes when I missed a day of class. I even took her out to dinner and a movie once. Yeah, she was that sort of girl. We never even so much as french kissed. She was adamant about "saving herself for marriage"...as her mother loved to remind me every time I came over. We broke up over the summer and they moved away a few months into eleventh grade. The rumor going around was that a member of the basketball team got her pregnant, but no one actually knew for sure why they moved.
I wasn't terribly interested in girls my own age, anyway. Oh, don't get me wrong, I'd have happily fucked any of them that offered. Hell, I was so used to being friend-zoned, if you were a girl in my peer group, I'd have probably fingered you for an hour and got you off a half dozen times even though I knew you'd just send me home with blueballs so I could sniff my finger while jerking off later if you'd have let me. I'm just a guy, after all. But an actual relationship? Like actually being interested in their shoes or trying to explain any of my hobbies? Introducing them to my friends? Ugh! Way more hassle than it's worth. So much drama and celebrity worship and childish nonsense and stupid teen angst. Older women seem much easier to deal with...they have all that mess together and aren't all uptight about not being seen as sluts. Well, maybe they are, but not in the same way.
Anyhow, between the day to day grind of my homework, my part-time job to pay for my car and gaming habit, spending most all of my free time in some fantasy land or other with my gamer friends and never really understanding girls anyhow, I was a pretty typical geeky, teen-aged, virginal mid-western boy. I know...a regular walking cliche, right? So how did I wind up with my mom? Relax, I'm getting to that. First, let me tell you about her.
I'm not sure exactly when she went from being "mom" to being a "milf", but it feels like those thoughts have always been there, vaguely wandering around the back of my mind. I was an only child and I was breastfed, so that may have played into it, especially since my mom's highly affectionate and loving. My father was never afraid to slap her ass or grope her huge boobs in front of me, either. And she's always been a bit uninhibited about not wearing all her clothes in the house when it's just us family, so there was a constant, subtle sort of low-level sexuality in the air when I was growing up. It was really easy to get good, long looks at all her most womanly parts sometimes, so as puberty kicked in and I discovered masturbation, she became prime jerk-off fantasy material. My erotic daydreams could be weirdly vivid, too, because my dad basically looks like a much older, taller version of me with facial hair.
She started to tuck it all away a little more as I got older and she began to notice my lingering gazes, so naturally I starting finding ways to get my looks in when she didn't know I was looking. Peeping on her getting in and out of the shower or dressing for work or catching her and dad having sex became a bit of an obsession some weeks. Sometimes I'd sneak into their bedroom late at night to watch her sleep. Occasionally, I'd even work up the courage to lift the blanket to take a peek and try to talk myself into touching her voluptuous body as she quietly snored. I have a real thing for the sexy, innocent vulnerability of sleeping girls. And to catch her in bed when she thought she was truly all alone and she got her little pink toy out of it's hiding place under the nightshirts in the back corner of her dresser's bottom drawer...well, that was one of my fondest dreams.
She was just perfect in my eyes. Exactly what a woman should be. When I properly hugged her close, she fit right up under my chin, which I felt was the best height for a girl. Her auburn hair was lusciously thick and fell past her waist when she didn't have it up in some fetching style. Her sharp nose, finely chiseled features and pale skin held a hint of ancient nobility and her intense green eyes could go from glittering gemstones to stormy rain-forest shadows with changes in her mood. The plush, feminine curves of her body said she'd worked hard to reclaim her figure after having a kid, but she had earned the right to the occasional cheeseburger and beer without feeling ashamed about it. She liked to wear tight shirts and loose skirts, didn't like to wear panties too often and only strapped her plump boobs into her 36DD bras when she had to go out in public. Yeah, I know what size bra my mom wears...are you really surprised?
I can still remember the feel of her heavy, warm breasts smooshing against my chest when she'd lean down to kiss me while tucking me into bed. And the way her shapely figure was silhouetted by the hallway light as she left my room, the gossamer fabric of her silken nightgown clinging to her lush curves. Or watching her as she moved about the house doing chores and cleaning up wearing nothing but a pair of panties and one of dad's shirts, her tits shifting and hanging and bouncing with gravity, her round bottom stretching her undies taut when she bent over and her thick mound teasing me behind the thin cloth with that heady aroma of light sweat and pussy juice wafting through the air while I pretended to play a video game. She kept her dense bush tidy in a neatly trimmed triangle and I don't think I'll ever be able to like a shaved girl...real women have hair down there.
