Chapter 1, Submissive mom – setting the context & invading his privacy….. Setting the context
I am a 39 year old divorced woman who works as an executive in the very conservative financial industry. I was married for 14 years before separating and getting a divorce nearly three years ago. I have one stepson, who lives in California with his father most of the year, but typically spends Christmas, spring break, and summer vacation with me. Robert’s birth mother, Jim’s first wife, died of leukemia about four months after he was born. She refused chemo treatments during her pregnancy to protect her unborn child; a decision that cost her life. I always respected her for this sacrifice. I entered his life when Robert was 1 ½ years old and I was the only mother Robert had ever known.
Jim and I had a tumultuous marriage. To be candid, the sex was great, but we were very different people, with different styles, priorities and values. When I was offered a major promotion just over three years ago to move to Boston, I knew it was time for a life style change and I began taking steps to end our marriage. This was not a trivial decision for me since we had a 17 year old son, who was doing well in school and sports. Coupled with the fact that Jim was the only man with whom I had ever achieved an orgasm, the decision to end the marriage was a tough one.
Robert, our 17 year old, stayed with his father where he could continue with his friends, school and sports. While I considered briefly trying to compel Robert to join me on the east coast, he was becoming increasingly defiant towards me, challenging my authority and would have been more than I could handle as a single parent. Besides, I was only his step mother, he belonged with his father.
Now, three years after my move to the east coast, I have been transferred to New York City where I have a nice, upscale, one bedroom flat in Manhattan. And Robert is 20 years old, and has completed his sophomore year at a very well known West coast school; and he is preparing to come spend the summer with me.
I have not dated much since arriving in New York city. To be truthful, my world has centered on my work and little else since my divorce.
I did not see things unfolding as they did; if I had, I would have taken steps to prevent it. But like many situations, one indiscretion can lead to more and more, and the slope can be very slippery.
I am not proud of what I have done, but I ask the reader to consider each step in the context of the previous errors of judgment I made, and realize that relatively minor mistakes can lead to bigger and bigger mistakes as things can spin hopelessly out of control.Chapter one: Mistake 1, invading his privacy
When I picked Robert up at Kennedy airport, and was struck by how much he had grown, how much he had matured and how much he resembled his father in his early 20’s. He had become a strikingly attractive young man with a powerful physique who now towered over my thin (perky) 5’ 3” frame. When he came through security he picked me up as he hugged me and spun me around like a rag doll.
Since my apartment only had the one bedroom, a loft of sorts that overlooked the living area, the plan was for Robert to sleep on the couch for the summer. And since the living room was not actually isolated from the bedroom, I bought a high quality set of head phones so Robert could watch TV at night after I had gone to bed without disturbing me.
Robert would not have a vehicle for the summer, but I had arranged a local gym membership so he could work out during the day to stay in shape. As a college student, he did not have a curfew, but I asked him to be courteous of the fact that I had to work. But the rules were virtually non-existent. We typically ate dinner together; then we would move to the living room, and we would watch together TV until I retired to bed. At which time, Robert would don the headphones and watch TV until he decided to turn in.
On an evening during the first week Robert was here, I awoke around 1:00 a.m. and decided to go down stairs for a drink of water or juice. I slept in my panties and a tee shirt. And I descended the steps from the loft, I could see the glow from the TV illuminating the room and Robert was lying back on the couch with his headphones on. His back was to me. He had a cable movie on, ‘9 ½ weeks’, which was a soft porn film from the ‘80’s. I was surprised to see him gently stroking his erect penis while lying on the couch to the scenes on the TV.
I should have quietly turned and retreated upstairs; however, I was completely mesmerized by the sight of my son masturbating. His erect penis was magnificent; thick, long and rigid. It was so hard and erect that it looked like it hurt. I found myself getting aroused at this sight, and without thinking, I reached down and touched myself while standing in the shadows, watching my son pump his fist.
I do not know exactly how long I stood there in the dark, squatting slightly and silently stimulating myself to the incredibly and unexected sight of Robert's masturbation session, but I assume it was several minutes. I do not know what made him do so, perhaps he saw my movement behind him reflected on the TV screen; but suddenly and without any warning. Robert tuned around and saw me standing in the darkened hallway with my night shirt hiked up around my waist and my hand in my panties stoking myself.
“What the hell?” he exclaimed.
I quickly withdrew my hand, tried to straighten my night shirt, and explained that I was only coming down for a drink. I apologized for disturbing him quickly scurrying into the kitchen. I could feel the embarrassment and flush burning my cheeks; my pulse was racing as I quickly thought what to do next.
Robert followed me into the kitchen, bared chested, wearing only his boxers, and sporting an enormous boner. “What were you doing back there in the dark?” He asked.
“Nothing. Nothing at all. I was just coming down for a drink. I am sorry I disturbed you.” I repeated.
He stood there, seemingly unaware of how very obvious the pole sticking out of his shorts was. “It didn’t look to me like you were ‘doing nothing’ back there.” He said with a grin.
I was mortified. I blushed even deeper. And the smirk on his face clearly showed that he was enjoying my embarrassment.
I pushed past him and headed upstairs saying simply, “well I was just coming down stairs for a drink. There is nothing more to it.” And tried hard to maintain eye contact rather than stare at my son’s erection pointing straight up at me; but I know Robert caught my quick glances at his erecetion.
I heard him chuckle “OK, if that’s your story” as I ascended the stairs to the loft where my bed was. I had not even gotten the drink I originally came down stairs for.
I did not sleep much that night and spend most of the following day deeply distracted about the relatively innocent interaction with Robert the night before. I was anxious on several fronts. The embarrassment of the incident notwithstanding; I also had to admit that the image of his very large, very erect penis was etched indelibly in my mind’s eye; and it was arousing me despite my best intentions. I could not rid my "mind's eye" of the image of Robert's erection no matter how hard I tried, nor could I control my physical reaction to this image.
(more to follow in Chapter 2, 3 and 4)
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