Incest stories,mom and son, Mom’s sanity depends on son’s potency
“The big four-oh, Uncle Zack,” I said as I handed him his drink.
“Don’t feel a day over thirty-nine … and a half!” he laughed.
To tell you the truth, he didn’t look much older than me, and I just turned eighteen a couple months before.
I knew this birthday party was for both Uncle Zack and my mother—identical twins—but I thought I’d give my uncle the opportunity to tell one of his favorite stories (for the hundredth time).
“I forget,” I said, “who’s the oldest again?”
“Glad you asked, Mikey. I was all set to be born, ready to make my way into the world, when I got a tap on my shoulder and your mother said ‘That’s not very polite!’ So I made a courteous bow, which, in the womb is no small accomplishment, and said ‘Zoey, after you!’”
“Then, why does Mom look a little older than you do,” I laughed. I fought back the urge to tell him how much I hated being called “Mikey.”
“I’ll tell her you said that,” he kidded.
“Errr! Said what?” I laughed. But, in truth, I never wanted my mom to believe I thought of her as anything but beautiful, which she was.
She and Uncle Zack were both tall and muscular and athletic … real twins in all the clichés and stereotypes you can think of—even finishing each others’ thoughts out loud. A real connection. They both had straight black hair with not one gray in the bunch; Uncle Zach had his cut short and parted on the right while my mom had her hair long enough so she could control its swishy path with turns and twirls of her head—making it shine reflected light back to you. (I don’t think she knew she was doing this, but knowing my mom, I wouldn’t doubt she had practiced moves in front of the bedroom mirror.)
Uncle Zack’s good looks even won him a few small parts in some movies I never had seen. That was before he got going in investing and so real good at it and became successful. But, what I’m saying is that’s how good looking he was. Which also says how good looking my mother was.
“Sit next to your uncle for a sec, Mikey.”
“Mom says I have to keep moving and see everybody’s got what they need at the party. Mom’s orders, yanno.”
Mom and Dad had hired a local 3-piece band and tucked them into the far corner of the living room. The female singer played a bass guitar and a guy was on drums. The other guy sand and played an acoustic guitar. I was all set to throw some shade, but they were really good.
Above the sound of “Wonderful Tonight” Uncle Zack said, “Consider it my birthday wish … I want to ask you something.”
So I sat on the couch next to him.
Uncle Zack reached over and cupped the back of my neck and gave a rough “guy” shake that we use instead of a hug, I guess. “I’m proud of you, Mikey. Graduating near the top of your high school class, full academic scholarship, recruited for football across the country. Proud … just proud.”
I guess it meant a lot to have my uncle say that. He wasn’t too generous about the compliments. I stuck out my hand and he took it and we shook while I said, “Thanks. I guess I take after my uncle,” then I laughed. I must have gotten a whole load of Mom’s gene’s because I sure didn’t take after my dad. He was only five-eight and I was already taller than Mom’s five-ten. Not quite as tall as my uncle’s six-two, though, but I was still growing (I hoped!).
I made a motion to get up when he said, “Now I have a question for you.” I settled my weight back down on the cushions. “Take a look around the room. There have to be fifty people packed into your home tonight. Of everybody … who’s prettiest?”
“Mom” sprang into my mind without a nanosecond’s pause, but I judged he wouldn’t want a mama’s boy answer. And he didn’t want Lori, my girlfriend, as an answer. And to tell you the truth, Lori was far from the prettiest.
I looked around the room. Most of the women wore dresses or skirts or whatever. One woman wore tight jeans. Very tight jeans. And a silky short-sleeved green blouse (that matched the color of her eyes) that glided over her breasts as she swayed and turned with the music. She had shoulder-length red hair, and I mean bright natural red, that was a big mass of curls the way that actress that was married to the guy in that religion had when she was younger. She also had light freckles on her face that were placed just right.
And those jeans—those jeans clutched at her butt (the most amazing butt I had ever seen) so that each cheek was defined by their dividing line.
“Auntie Lee,” I answered.
“Auntie Lee,” he echoed. “Good choice. My choice too, if you don’t count your mother.”
If we don’t count her. I agree. I nodded that agreement.
“LEE!” he called out across the noise and the song, the line about how wonderful the guy’s girl was that night. “LEE!” he called again.
That got her attention and she looked over without stopping her solo dance. She turned on an gigantic open-mouthed smile in our direction. Uncle Zack raised his index finger over his head and made circles in the air. She laughed, put her right hand on her stomach and did a series of slow spins while gracefully circling her hips—all accentuating that great ass.
My aunt was sultry wrapped over gorgeous and sugar coated with sensual.
My uncle had met her while she was trying to break into Hollywood. She was another extra-beautiful creature who didn’t get the breaks, unless meeting my uncle was a break.
“Your Auntie Lee. How long have you known her?”
“Seems like forever,” I said without taking my eyes off her motions, her hair, her hips … her ass. “You’ve been married for ten years, and you dated her for a while so I guess I’ve known Auntie Lee since I was six or seven. Real young, anyway. Like forever.”
“And you like her?” my uncle asked. “You’ve always gotten along?”
“Auntie Lee? Oh yeah. Of course. What’s not to like: she’s smart and funny and caring. Yanno … everything.”
I wondered where this was going and why these questions, especially during the party.
“Good … good,” he said. He was always so cool and confident and sure of himself. But he looked like he was hesitating. Then he put his hand on my shoulder, looked to see no one else was near and said:
“I want you to make love to my wife.”
I thought I didn’t hear him right or was being pranked or something. I stayed looking at him for a long time. I didn’t say anything; he didn’t say anything. Nothing was said. For a long time.
Then I heard my mother’s voice from across the room: “MICHAEL! Michael, I told you to keep moving. People need tending. NOW!”
Michael, my full name. Mom only used my full name when she meant business, which usually meant I was in trouble for something. The other time she said “Michael” was when she was in one of her rare moods: a sad one or a happy one or a mushy one … you know.
I got up and turned to leave. Uncle Zack took hold of my arm, got up and whispered, “I want you to fuck your Auntie Lee.”
*******************************
I did my “tending” so Mom stayed off my back. And while I tended, I tried to keep my eyes off my Auntie Lee. After what my uncle had said, it was hard to not think of her.
But, I didn’t know what to think. Sure I had thought about fucking her, just like I thought about fucking a million other pretty woman. All while jerking off over the years.
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