The summer before I started college was really a time of exploration for me. My brothers were always gone, leaving at the crack of dawn to hang out with friends, and not coming back until well after dark. Being the oldest, my mom always left me in charge and as soon as they left, I would deadbolt the doors. In the rare event that they came home, I’d tell them I was cleaning the house and I didn’t want them messing it up. Of course that was a lie; I just wanted my own personal time.
A couple of weeks into it, my mom told me she had to go out of town for work and asked me to take care of the boys. My mom was a nurse and every few months she’d have to go out of town for a conference. It was always just for a few days and I pretty much raised my brothers anyway. I never really thought much about it, but I did miss the evening chats we’d have when she finally came home.
My crappy brothers were already out of the house when I helped my mom load up her car. She gave the address and telephone number of the hotel she’d be staying at and kissed my forehead before climbing in the car. I watched as she backed out the driveway, feeling a little conflicted. In one sense, I didn’t want to see her leave. On the other, I knew her absence meant a lot more free time and time to play. While my heart ached to watch her car disappear around the corner, my pussy was dripping.
I locked the doors as soon as I was inside and had my clothes off before the computer even booted up. I went straight for one of my favorite bulletin boards and started looking at pictures. It was painful how long it took for a single picture to load up, but to me, it was well worth the wait. I also had several magazines out. After a particularly sexy picture loaded onto the screen, I came up with the bright idea of saving it to a floppy disc. I looked all over the desk, but all of them were used. I knew my mom usually kept a supply in her closet, so I peeled myself from the screen, dried my hands off, and walked naked into her room.
Her closet was an absolute disaster. There were at least a dozen shoe boxes, camera cases, and clothes everywhere. I was just about to give up when my curiosity took over. Now I never snooped through my parents’ stuff, even when I was little. But I was feeling very mischievous at the time. So I knelt down on the floor, my little ass waving in the air as I rummaged through her belongings.
Even after I found a box of blank floppies, I continued to look through the boxes. I was amazed at the things she kept. There were entire boxes filled with artwork that I made for her when I was little. It was horrible, and macaroni covered the bottom of the box, but she even put tissue paper in the box to protect it like it was a masterpiece. Another box had stuff from my brothers, but just one, and it wasn’t even full.
Then, underneath a pile of sweaters, was this briefcase. I thought it was rather odd since I never saw either of my parents carry one, let alone this one. I tried to pop the locks open, but it was locked with a combination. I shook it a few times and could tell there was something in it, and as persistent and goal-oriented as I am, I sat back on the bed, starting with 000, and tried each and every number until the lock popped open. The combinations were the same for both sides…248, my mother’s birth month and year.
My heart raced as I opened the case, beating even faster when I saw its contents. Lying in the bottom were several dildos and vibrators, including one with straps. I picked it up and held it in my hands. The thing was huge. As young and naïve as I was, I was completely flabbergasted. I had seen several pictures of women fucking women with dildos, even strap-ons, but I couldn’t fathom why my mother would own one. The pockets held a collection of magazines, but not just any old magazines. These were hard core porn—lesbian porn. As I held the heavy shaft of that silicone cock in my hand, it suddenly became clear. My mother liked women. I smiled as I recalled her confession. At the time, I thought she was telling me she just experimented once or twice. In fact, I had later questioned whether she just told me that to make me feel better. Now, I was seeing my mother in a whole new light.
I looked down at the dildo. I’m not sure why it didn’t occur to me before, but I was suddenly aware that this cock I was holding was my mother’s. It had been inside her. She masturbated with it; fucked herself with it. I know the thought should have repulsed me, but it didn’t. Instead, in turned me on immensely, images of her face racing through my mind. I brought it to my nose, smelling it, expecting to smell her, but it only smelled of rubber and soap. I was disappointed to say the least.
Putting it aside, I grabbed the magazines and thumbed through them. They weren’t all that different from ones I had seen before, mostly younger women in rather provocative poses, but just knowing they belonged to my mother made it naughty…taboo, and that made it all the more exciting to me.
Behind it was a lockbox. I had seen it before. I remember asking my mother what was in it and she just told me “important papers.” At the time, I took that to mean birth certificates, marriage certificates, and things like that. But now, curiosity had taken its hold on me. I turned the numbers on the dial, trying 2-4-8 first. That didn’t work, but 2-1-48 sure did. At first, I was disappointed. There were a few floppy drives and a few documents, mostly letters. But as I picked up the letters, I saw several Polaroid pictures under them, pictures of an older woman and a girl about my age. Others had my mom as well. Even more striking was the fact that all of them were naked, and in several of them, they were touching each other. Oh hell! Why mix words? My mother was fucking them, fucking and licking them both. And they were the hottest pictures I had ever seen.
After examining each and every picture quite closely, I turned my attentions to the letters. I noticed the envelopes were addressed to my mother, but the address was a post office box. My heart raced as I pulled the first out. I should have been mad when I realized it was a love letter. I should have been infuriated that she was cheating on my dad. Perhaps if I didn’t know exactly how she felt, I would have been. My dad was on the road sometimes for months at a time. He only came home when he could arrange a load close to our town. A lot of times he only spent the night, having my mother wash his clothes. It was like he used the house as a free motel. He still took care of us financially, for the most part, but I still felt like he abandoned us, and I’m sure my mother felt the same way.
I went through each and every sentence, every single word of that letter. It was so beautifully written, expressing a love that was so sincere that even I could feel it. I learned the woman in the picture’s name was Allison. The younger girl was her daughter, Cindy. It took me much longer than it should have to realize the implications of that, how my mother was involved in a sexual relationship with another woman and her daughter. I counted another dozen letters, the postmarks dating back almost two years. It was getting late, so I decided to put the letters back, knowing I didn’t have time to go through them all before my brothers were home.
I had a thousand thoughts racing through my mind when I stood back and walked back to my computer. I sat down, looking at the pictures, but not really seeing them. Images of my mother kept popping up. They weren’t sexual thoughts of her; they were just things she said to me over the years that were making more sense now. Most of them were comments she made about my dad and about their relationship. I realized my mother hadn’t loved him in a very long time, but she stayed with him anyway. Suddenly I felt like an obstacle—the one thing standing between my mother and her happiness.
My thoughts were interrupted by the familiar ring of the telephone, signaling my mother’s nightly call. I stood up and walked to the kitchen to grab the phone. As I heard my mother’s voice, I became increasingly aware of my nudity. It wasn’t uncommon for me to walk around the house naked when no one was home, knowing the deadbolts would keep my brothers out. Still, as I stood there naked on the phone, I felt like she knew, like she could see me. Maybe it was because I felt guilty for snooping, exposing her secrets; perhaps it was because I felt so close to her. Whatever it was, I felt much more exposed than I ever had before.
“Is everything okay? Are the boys giving you any trouble?” she asked.
“No, they haven’t even been home all day. To be honest, I didn’t even realize it was 7:00 until you called. I haven’t even started dinner yet,” I confessed. “How’s the conference going? Having a lot of fun?”
“Oh, long and boring. It’s like going to school with a bunch of people you don’t know. I’d much rather be home with you.”
For once, I detected the deceit in her voice. I knew exactly where she was, and it wasn’t a conference. I wanted to tell her it was alright, that she didn’t have to lie to me. I wanted to tell her that I understood. I just didn’t know how.
“I love you mom. And if you want to stay an extra day or two, we’ll be fine. You deserve it. You deserve the time away, enjoying yourself.”
“Don’t be silly. Why on Earth would I want to stay in a hotel any longer than I have to?” she asked, the confusion in her voice mixed with an equal part apprehension.
“Because you deserve the vacation. You deserve the time away to just relax and enjoy yourself,” I answered.
“I may just take you up on it,” she replied.
Smiling, I told her, “Please do,” and told her goodbye. I picked up the phone and ordered a pizza before heading back to my room to get dressed and clean up. Usually, I would return to my porn as soon as my brothers were in bed—that night I didn’t. Instead, I lay in bed thinking about my mother. I felt sorry for her. Before, I couldn’t stop thinking about my own sexuality, now I couldn’t stop thinking of hers. I realized all the issues that had been plaguing me for the past several months had tormented my mother for years, perhaps decades. Then I started thinking about where she was, what she was doing. Finally, she was getting a chance to enjoy herself, to explore, to be herself without judgment. I was so happy for her, and I didn’t want it to end for her just because she had to come back home. I fell asleep contemplating exactly how I would let her know.
I woke up to the front door slamming. Looking out the window I saw my brothers with their friends heading out on their bikes, towels wrapped around their necks. I knew then that they were going to the community pool at the back of our neighborhood and would be gone all day. Ordinarily, a refreshing swim would sound good, but I was already wet. I rolled out of bed and made sure all of the doors were secure.
My next stop was the laundry hamper, gathering up the clothes before taking them out to the laundry room. If I was going to keep the doors locked all day under the premise of cleaning the house, I had to at least do some housework. Besides, if I didn’t do it, it wouldn’t get done. I threw some detergent and bleach in the washer and set the cycle to hot, then started loading the dirty towels. I then went through the dirty clothes, separating them, throwing the whites into the washer. My heart nearly stopped when I saw a pair of my mother’s panties lying in the basket. I had never thought about them before. I picked them up, holding them in my fingers, marveling at how soft they were, despite wearing nearly identical panties. “Snap out of it, she’s your mother!” I scolded myself aloud before throwing them in the washer.
I then went to clean up the kitchen, which thanks to the pizza the night before, was of short order. After picking up trash around the house, I ran the vacuum cleaner over the floor, making sure to leave tracks across the carpet. I finished up in my mother’s bedroom. I unplugged the vacuum, wrapping up the cord with my eyes fixated on her closet. For once, I didn’t even think about my computer or my magazines.
As soon as I put the vacuum back in the closet, I peeled my t-shirt up and over my head. I slid my panties off too, tossing them both in my room before heading to my mother’s closet. With my juices trailing down my inner thighs, I knelt to the floor, heading straight for those two boxes. Popping the locks, I pulled everything out, and then lay down on her bed, surrounded by her magazines, her letters, and her toys. As I lay there, smelling her pillow, her scent still on it, I reminisced about her holding me a few short days before, comforting me after my confession. I missed her so much, but was glad she wasn’t home.
I organized the letters by their dates; then pulled out the first letter. It was written just shy of two years earlier. It started out innocently enough. From what I deduced, my mother had met Allison at a nurse’s convention in Dallas. Apparently, they hadn’t gotten pretty drunk and wound up sleeping together. I could sense the pain in her letter. She confessed that she had thought about women her entire life, but my mother was the first, and she couldn’t stop thinking about her. Tiny water spots decorated the pages. I couldn’t tell if they were Allison’s or my mother’s, but I suspected they were a mixture of the two, as I was adding a few new ones of my own.
The next couple of letters were more of the same. It was clear that my mother had written her back, and apparently they had talked on the phone a few times. Long-distance was extremely expensive back then or I’m sure they would have been talking daily. While it was obvious she still missed my mother immensely, the tone was much happier, especially on the fifth letter when she related her excitement that my mother had planned another visit, this time just to see her.
The next letter talked a lot about how wonderful it was to see my mother again, to make love to her. But reading further, she mentioned that she thought her daughter knew. I learned then that her daughter was 17, and “certainly not stupid.” She said Cindy had been avoiding her and been very quiet and she feared her daughter realized her mother was a lesbian and didn’t approve. Once again, I could feel her agony, this inner conflict between living for herself and living for her daughter. It was obvious that she loved Cindy and didn’t want to hurt her, and my tears were once again flowing.
The next letter sounded very veiled. Apparently something huge had happened and she had called my mom to talk about it. All I could really get out of it was that she was happy and relieved. It wasn’t until the next letter that I fully understood. I learned Allison had had a very long talk with Cindy and admitted her feelings for my mother. She was happy because her daughter was okay with it but was jealous of my mother because she felt like a third wheel. Cindy told her she just wasn’t used to sharing her, but would have to learn to deal with it. Allison said she was going out of her way to spend quality time with her and that their relationship was stronger than ever.
It was a letter written last October that really got my attention. My mother had gone to another “conference” the week before and Allison said she hadn’t been able to sleep since she left. “Every time I close my eyes, it takes me back to Saturday night,” she wrote. “I keep seeing her in the doorway, watching us. I keep remembering how I ran after her to talk to her. I keep hearing her words, telling me how she felt, how she was jealous of you, and why. And then I think about Sunday night, the look in her eyes when I led her to our room, how wonderful it was to share my lover with her, how wonderful it was it share my daughter with you.”
I read that part over and over again, so many times I have it memorized, not just the words, but every stroke of the pen. I was mesmerized by it. I had read hundreds, if not thousands of stories on the bulletin boards and in magazines, which would spill out every explicit detail, often involving extremely kinky and taboo encounters. But none of them were as erotic to me as those words. I closed my eyes imagining it, using their pictures to facilitate the imagery, augmented by my own wicked imagination.
I know I had read a multitude of incest stories, most of them involving mothers and their daughters. I admit that the concept of incest had aroused me for quite some time. Still, I had never really pictured my mother in any of my fantasies. When I masturbated to a mother-daughter scenario, I would call the woman mom, but in my head, she was a faceless person. But as I lay that day on my mother’s bed, burying my fingers deep inside my pussy, rubbing my clit until it was too sore to continue, my lover had a face. The same woman who gave birth to me, who raised me, who comforted me in this very bed, was now in my head performing the most perverted, erotic acts I ever imagined, and I loved her even more for it.
The final letters talked mostly about how close Cindy and Allison had become. She told my mother how much they both missed her and how they couldn’t wait to see her again. But there was something else. Allison thanked my mom for sending her my pictures. She told her how beautiful I was and how it was easy to see why she never stopped talking about me. But the line that really stuck out was her telling my mother that she hoped one day that my mom would have the kind of relationship with me that she really wanted and that she would “be as happy sharing you with Becky as you are sharing me with Cindy.”
You know how some things, no matter how obvious they are, you just can’t believe? I read over that line over and over trying to come up with a rational explanation, something, anything that would make more sense than the obvious. It’s not that I didn’t want it to be true. Oh, God no! I never wanted anything to be truer. I was afraid that I was wrong. I read her words several more times, then picked up my mother’s dildo and rammed it deep inside of me, fucking every ounce of doubt right out of me.
My clean up wasn’t as meticulous this time; I knew I’d be back the next day going through everything again. I simply threw everything back into the boxes and pushed them back in her closet. I didn’t even bother to clean her dildo off. I did take a shower, which was a mistake. I just couldn’t resist rubbing myself again, despite my clit being nearly rubbed raw.
It was so hard to focus the rest of the night. My brothers complained because I burned dinner. My mother asked me what was wrong, noting that I seemed distracted. I told her I just had a lot on my mind. She asked me if I had more girl troubles, which caught me off-guard. I just didn’t know how to answer. My hesitation prompted her to ask me who she was. I told her I’d tell her when she got home.
“Fair enough,” she replied, “I’m going to spend tomorrow night here and drive back the next morning. I should be home by noon, and I want to hear all about it young lady.”
“Okay, mom. Love you,” I told her, hanging up the phone. It didn’t give me much time to prepare, but for once, I knew just what to do.
To be continued…
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