Mother and son, incest story, It’s late and I’m lying on my bed watching TV. I have the sound real low because my little brother and sister are asleep in their room just down the hall. I’m wearing a tee shirt and shorts because it’s August and still too hot to wear anything else or to sleep beneath the sheets.
I can hear the sound of the shower running in the room next to mine as my mom gets herself ready for bed. After a little while the house goes silent and I turn down the volume another notch just so that I don’t disturb anybody. I’m getting tired and drifting. Kind of in that place just before one day merges into the next through sleep.
My mom comes into my room a little while afterwards. It’s not that unusual. She likes to do that sometimes. She might sit with me a little while. We don’t talk much or anything but she stays with me for a time and then kisses me goodnight. It’s just feels good for us to be close at that time of day. I think we both enjoy that.
Life is tough for my mom. She has this thing about not letting things get her down, but I know how hard it must be. Especially now. Mom lies down next to me on the bed. She doesn’t speak but she smiles. I like that about her, she has the sweetest smile.
She’s wearing pyjamas. She looks pretty dressed like that. They are a deep blue colour and buttoned at the front. They are a little tight on her but somehow I like that. I don’t really know why. I know she worries about the way she looks. She jokes about her big ass and her big boobs. I tell her she looks incredible. Sexy and beautiful, especially now, but she just laughs a little and tells me that is so cute.
But it’s true. She’s 38 and to me she looks perfect. She’s about 5ft 8. She’s curvy and stunning. I adore her curves. Her hair is still slightly wet and she smells fresh from her shower. Her hair is amazing. She wears it long. It’s black and full, it suits her so well. But it’s her eyes that blow me away. Deep brown. A real perfect brown eyed girl.
But it’s more than the way she looks. She’s warm, intelligent and special. She’s somebody who understands how it feels. That’s why I feel the way I do about her.
I’m sitting up, resting against the board at the back of the bed. She does the same so that we are side by side. I like that.
“What are you watching baby?” Her voice is just a whisper, soft and kind.
It’s some old movie. Something from the fifties or sixties, I don’t know. I don’t respond because I don’t really think she wants me to. I feel like she’s happy just to sit here with me as we both watch in silence. Maybe the two of us sitting like this next to each other is all that matters.
She reaches one hand up and strokes gently over the back of my neck, spreading her fingers through my hair. She smiles again and tells me that I have nice hair and that I take after her. It feels good when she says that to me.
I can tell that she likes to do this. Sometimes, when there’s others around, she will touch me so that nobody notices too much. That hits me inside. She might brush her hand over my skin or press my shoulders a little. I like it best when she hugs me from behind. Once or twice, she has kissed my neck when she does that. That always feels so good. I’m used to her touching me like that and I ache for her to do it. She’s my mom, I love her touching me.
After a little while she rests her head against my chest and I kind of hold her that way. She wraps her arm around my waist and stretches her hand underneath my tee shirt. We sit like that for a little while. Her hair feels sweet against my face. I can just make out the rise and fall of her breathing and the warmth of her body through her pyjamas.
Her fingers circle lightly over the skin of my stomach. It feels so nice when she does that. I never want her to stop doing that. She tells me sometimes how much she loves touching my skin. She makes me promise to her that nobody else can touch me that way. I would promise her anything, I think she must know that.
I want to close my eyes but I’m scared that I will fall asleep and that when I wake up she will be gone. Her touch makes me feel calm and I want to let myself go, but I don’t want this to stop. It’s as if she knows. As my body begins to relax against hers she turns her face up towards mine and looks at me. She leans up just a little so that her lips press lightly against my mouth.
It’s a goodnight kiss, that’s all. Just my mom wanting to feel close to me before we sleep.
She looks at me again after she has done that. She’s stroking her fingers back and forth across my waist, just above the waistband of my shorts.
“Does that feel nice honey?”
She speaks so quietly and so softly. I don’t really know if she wants me to answer. I look down at her face. It’s those eyes. There is something so special about those brown eyes. She waits for me.
“I love you mom, you know that don’t you?”
It’s not the answer to her question but it’s what I want to say to her. I do love her, of course I do. But, right here and now, I say it because I want her to know that I can sense a part of her that is just for me. I want to her to know that I can feel that and I want her to know that I am always here for her, especially now.
She puts her face back against my chest. Her touch seems a little more deliberate now. She makes circles across my stomach. The TV is still talking to me but it’s just a quiet noise without meaning. Instead, all of my senses are trained on her and her touch.
“You won’t ever leave me baby, will you?”
She sounds a little vulnerable when she says that. Maybe I shouldn’t, but it makes me feel good to know that she worries about being without me. I like her needing me that way.
“No mom, I promise, I’m going always be here for you.”
Her fingers edge up slowly as she moves her touch across my nipple. It sends a tremor through me. There is something about her touching me like that. It’s more than a simple physical touch. I can tell that she wants me to feel pleasure, a type of pleasure that is just for me. She is showing me she understands and that she knows how it feels.
She moves to kiss me again. Her lips are open just a little. She’s still touching me, still stroking my nipple with the tips of her gorgeous fingers. Her lips are soft and moist. She has kissed me like this before. This time though I want her to know. I want her to feel like I do. I want her to know that I don’t want this stop.
As she breaks the kiss there is a slight pause. Then, for the first time ever, I lean my face towards her and press my mouth to hers. It’s not forceful or urgent. Just deliberate.
She responds. Later, she will tell me how she has lain awake at night touching herself and thinking about me. Imagining my mouth against hers. Imagining the taste of me. Too scared to think about how she feels but needing me too much to ever kill the thought.
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