I'm an old man now, well 60ish, and both my parents are long gone, but I still have this damned awful fetish about my Mother. I have this fantasy that haunts my thoughts. I am doing it to her ... I am making love to my own mother.
I guess it came about because I slept in the same bed with my mother until I was a teenager. It would probably have been longer if she hadn't woken one morning to find my hand inside her nightdress and fondling her breast. After that I was banned from her bedroom and sadly I hardly ever got to touch her again.
I won't go into why I was sleeping with her. I thought at the time it was because of my nightmares, but now I think she wanted me there and only relented when I got just a bit too frisky. Long story ... won't bore you!
Anyway the effect of my closeness to Mum at that critical time was to leave me with a deep fetish (or whatever it's called) for having sex with my mother. In fact it only surfaced after my wife (now ex-wife) started calling me 'Dad' (I guess she had a thing about her Dad). I played along and then in returned she played my 'Mum'.
What a mistake that was. It opened a Pandora's Box inside me and I wanted it more and more. In reality my Mother had passed on by then so it was only role-play, but I lost myself so much in that 'play' I think it began to worry my wife a lot. Sadly we parted (but not just because of that), and now I am old and alone and with a sick fetish I can't share with any woman. I mean if I told a woman I was dating what I really wanted to do with her she probably vomit over me, and then run like hell out the door. It's a tough life being a dirty old man.
Anyway enough of the tear-jerking, one day I found this site and learnt it wasn't just me fascinated with their mother, so I thought I'd write this. First story and probably my last ... call it therapy!
So what do I want to do to my Mother?
Well I am young (about 25) and I'd want her dressed up for me in really smart clothes. A long flowing red evening dress with a low neckline, and she'd be wearing high-heeled shoes and tan seamed stockings as sheer as you can get. Her hair would be immaculate and her face made up heavily (but to perfection), and she be wearing a long pearl necklace that rested in and accentuated her cleavage.
We'd be in a hotel, and she would call me to her room and be angry with me (for some reason or other). She'd slap my face, and then as she tried to do it again I'd resist and we'd scuffle for a while and then fall on the bed. I'd be on top of her, and as we struggled her dress would begin to slip from her shoulders revealing more and more of her cleavage.
Suddenly I would grab the shoulders of her dress and pull it down over her breasts. She scream at me but I would cover her mouth with mine and try to kiss her, and at the same time my hands would find her ample breasts and paw and fondle at them. Still struggling she would lift me away from her and look me in the eyes.
"What are you doing?" she'd say breathlessly. "I am your mother ... you can't touch me like this!"
With my hands still holding her breasts I'd say, "I can't help it. I love you mum and I want you. I want to make love to you ... I want to fuck you!"
She'd look at me with a strange expression, a mixture of shock and horror ... and just a touch of lust. Her mouth, framed by lips ripe with red lipstick, would fall open as if she didn't know what to say.
I'd look at her open mouth and whisper, "I want to do things to you no boy should ever do to his own Mother. I want to touch you where no son should touch his Mother. I want to fondle and kiss every part of your body."
