“When will you be back?” Monica Bronson asked her husband Ralph the question with a well-practiced evenness in her voice.
“I can’t be sure,” he replied as he pulled on his coat. “It depends on how well the negotiations go. But don’t expect me until mid-week at the earliest. These bastards aren’t going to make it easy.”
Monica nodded, showing no sign of the chill that ran through her. “At least three days,” she thought. A faint blush rose on her cheeks as she felt her body react to the news. The crinkling of her nipples and the faint wetness of her vagina thrilled her. She hoped that her husband could not see the quiver of excitement that ran through her, or the smile she fought to conceal.
She need not have worried. Ralph was paying her no mind, as usual. He was thinking about stratagems for the bargaining table and of the young assistant from the office he had every intention of taking to bed while they were away.
“I’m sure you’ll do great,” Monica said, hoping her tone would not betray her. “Tim and I will be fine until you get back.”
“I’m sure you will,” Ralph said with a complete lack of interest. At that point, his phone dinged with the message that his driver had pulled up outside the house. With barely a nod to his wife, he rolled his suitcase out the door and down the driveway to catch the red-eye flight to the coast.
“Good riddance, you piece of shit,” Monica said under her breath as she stared at her husband’s back. As the car drove away, she shut the door and took a deep breath. She walked to the kitchen and poured herself a generous glass of wine. She was committed to moving forward with her plan. She had to. She wanted to. Yet, deciding to fuck your son is not something done lightly.
Monica glanced at the clock. Her son Tim had traveled with his high school hockey team to a meet a few hours away. He should be home in an hour or so. Part of her wanted to make it happen tonight but from experience, she knew he returned from these day-long events exhausted. No, it would not be tonight.
As she waited, the thirty-four-year-old mother enjoyed a luxurious bubble bath, along with another glass of wine. She shaved her armpits and her legs, just as a touchup, and then proceeded to do the same for her pubic hair. Normally, she would not have bothered in that area but now, for Tim, she wanted his first experience of a vagina – her vagina – to be smooth, clean, pure.
Monica stepped from the tub, toweled herself dry, and took a long look at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She was conventionally attractive, having won the genetic lottery. She was petite, standing just over five feet tall. Her weight fluctuated a bit, of course, but she had never been more than 140 pounds. She was a bit less than that now, having been on a bit of a vanity diet lately. She was a blond, blue-eyed beauty with a captivating smile, a firm butt, and very nice breasts. Monica lifted them in her hands, pressing them together, and then let them drop. She was proud that they did not sag much at all. Exercise and luck had kept her 36C rack in excellent shape. And, she knew Tim had noticed her body too.
Monica dabbled part-time as a beauty products consultant, as a distraction mostly. She applied the slightest amount of makeup and just the faintest drop of perfume. She doubted Tim would notice either addition, at least consciously, but Monica understood the subconscious power her efforts could have on her son. After all, he was a man. At least, he would be tomorrow morning. They had gone far enough in their mutual flirtations that she had seen for herself his “manhood.” Maybe “young man” was the right term for him, but in any case, Tim certainly was no longer a boy.
This was important for Monica. Over the last several months, she had struggled with the idea, not only of becoming intimately involved with her own son, but with his age. Was he old enough, mature enough? Generally, she considered most sixteen-year-olds capable of making the decision to become sexually active. She had no doubt that this was true in Tim’s case. But to do so with his mother added a complexity to the question.
Her concerns had been alleviated. Their relationship had changed dramatically since last summer and, in every aspect, Tim had shown himself more than ready to handle the uniquely intense bond that they were about to forge. Sometimes, she wondered if he wasn’t more at peace with what was happening than she was. But then, she was the parent. It was her duty to worry about the well-being of her kid.
Monica pulled her long hair back into a ponytail and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt before going downstairs to the kitchen. She was preparing her son some sandwiches when she saw his car pull into the driveway. Her heart skipped a bit as she watched him walk toward the front door, lugging his massive equipment bag over one shoulder.
“My God,” she whispered to herself, “you are beautiful!”
Tim was indeed handsome. At six feet tall, he was a muscular 200 pounds. An athlete from his earliest days, he had developed a well-sculpted physique. Like his mother, he had blond hair, but his eyes were a striking grey, which he got from his father. It amazed Monica that Tim was still a virgin, but she was so grateful that he was.
“Hey, Mom,” Tim said as he entered the foyer and saw her in the kitchen. He started to drop his bag onto the floor, but Monica stopped him.
“Oh, no,” she said. “You know that doesn’t go there. Take it up to your room and then come back down. I made you something to eat.”
Tim nodded. “Okay, fine,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
She thrilled to see him stare at her hungrily, just for a second. Maybe her not wearing a bra under her shirt had something to do with his reaction. Certainly, the way her tender nipples felt against the fabric made it likely he could see them pressing against the shirt.
Tim bounded down the stairs and into the kitchen a few moments later. Looking around a bit, he asked, “Where’s Dad?”
“Apparently that acquisition deal his firm is doing suddenly got hot again. He left a little bit ago to fly out to the coast.” Monica hesitated just a moment to make sure her voice didn’t give anything away. “He won’t be home for at least a few days.”
Tim could not suppress an impish grin, bringing out his dimples. “So, we’re alone?”
Monica placed her hand on her son’s chest. “Yes,” she said. “Just you and me.” Stepping away from him, she pointed to the dining room table. “Now, you must be famished. Eat. And then, maybe get yourself a shower before bed?”
Tim gave a bit of a shrug as he took his seat. “I guess not,” he thought to himself. “But,” he wondered, “maybe?”
Monica knew she was tormenting him, but it would soon be remedied. “I didn’t ask,” she added, “if you guys won today?”
“Almost,” Tim mumbled through a mouth full of ham sandwich, “but it was close.”
“Well,” Monica went on in her best “perky mom” voice, “you’re always my winner, babe.”
Tim responded with a goofy grin. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Look,” Monica said, “you really look worn out. I’m going to run to the grocery store to pick up a few things, and maybe stop by my friend Amy’s house for a bit. Finish up, take a shower, and get to bed. You don’t have school tomorrow, remember? Some kind of teacher conference. You can sleep in.”
Monica felt as if the very thought of her son in his bed might give her an orgasm. She knew that last bit about sleeping in was a lie. She planned on getting an early start. “Oh,” she added, “don’t forget to put the plate and the glass in the sink. I’ll wash them later.”
Tim nodded and then said, “I am fucking tired.” He liked the way his use of an obscenity made his mother’s eyes widen for a second. “Before you go, could I get a kiss goodnight?” Now his smile spread across his face.
Monica hesitated. She felt she had to keep her distance, if only to maintain her wavering resolve to postpone what was going to happen. But she wanted to kiss him. God, she wanted to kiss him so damn much! She could keep it together for that.
“Of course,” she said. Monica walked over to her son. She placed a hand behind his head and lowered her lips toward his. Of course, this wasn’t their first kiss. She had kissed her son from the day of his birth. But this also wasn’t their first romantic kiss either. As their lips met, both mother and son sighed at the contact. Tim drew his tongue across Monica’s lips, seeking an invitation. She complied, opening enough for their tongues to find one another.
Tim placed his hands on his mother’s shoulders as their tongues playfully danced with one another. But he went no farther. Both of them kept control even as their kiss made clear their desires.
Monica pulled back after a moment. “We’ll spend some time together tomorrow,” she said. “Get some rest.” Looking down at Tim, she added, “I love you, Timmy.”
With his eyes a bit glazed from weariness and lust, her son responded, “I love you too, Mom.”
As Monica walked to her car and drove away from the house, she considered once again how she and Tim had reached this point.
*
Sometimes, important things in our lives begin gradually, so that we cannot say exactly when they began. But this was not the case for Monica and the awakening of her desire for her son. She remembered the precise moment. It was over the Fourth of July weekend, in the backyard of their house. Ralph, incredibly, had decided he had to get some work down in the office on the holiday. Most likely, he took advantage of the empty suite to meet up with some secretary, barmaid, or server, for an afternoon of meaningless and not particularly well-executed fucking.
Monica was working in her flower beds, even though it was a hot day. She found some peace in it. Tim was getting some laps done in the pool. When he finished, he walked out of the water and she saw him – really saw him – in an entirely new light. The droplets on his chest and arms glistened in the sun and seemed to sparkle against his tan skin. “Holy shit,” Monica remembered thinking, “he’s ripped. He’s gorgeous!”
Tim caught his mom staring at him as he walked toward the house. “See anything you like?” he laughed. With her guard down, Monica said without thinking, “Yeah.” Her son laughed even harder but he felt something shift in that moment, even if he could not fully understand it.
Monica sat back on her heels and drew in a few deep, gasping breaths. She felt herself changing in that moment. Closing her eyes and gathering her thoughts, she took several minutes to think. When she opened her eyes again, Monica was calm and oddly resolved. She was sexually attracted to her son, and she wanted them to be lovers. “Just like that,” she thought to herself. “Okay, then.”
All that changed at first is she made a point of making Tim more intentionally the object of her attention. She had no idea how to proceed. She made a point of talking with him more, asking about his day, and complimenting him when he did well in sports or at school. She touched him more, placing her hand on his arm or the small of his back. She hugged him more often, letting the embrace linger just a bit longer each time. She commented on his looks, told him he was handsome, and asked him about any girls he might like. And, step by step, Monica began to wear tighter, more revealing clothes around him. She had no idea, and really no expectation, that her efforts would get him thinking about her, but they definitely increased her enjoyment of thinking about him.
And think about Tim she did. Monica masturbated occasionally prior to that summer but now she made the practice an almost daily affair. She would finger herself in the shower, in bed as Ralph snored beside her, during the day when the fever hit her, and always with Tim as the object of her imagination. On the rare occasions when Ralph wanted to screw her, Monica would welcome his frantic five minutes of thrusting with her eyes firmly closed and her son’s face on her mind. In fact, a few times she initiated sex with her husband, just to get a chance to “fuck Tim.”
If Monica spent the rest of the summer and into the autumn playing these mind games for her own amusement, she never thought it all was going anywhere with her son. She assumed he was clueless as to what her words, touches, and looks really meant. But he was not clueless at all. Tim had understood from that first moment in July that his mother was looking at him lustily, and he was pleased to find that he was seeing her now in the same way. His friends made comments about Monica being a MILF, but he had not really paid attention except to feel a slight sense of annoyance. Now, he saw it, and damn if he didn’t like it.
All those seemingly innocent actions by Monica had a similar effect on Tim. He was soon beating off to mental images of his mother and spent considerable time trying to imagine what she might look like naked. He began to search out mother-son porn online. He made every effort to get a bit farther, see a bit more.
One of their favorite new habits was to sit on the couch together and watch a movie in the evening. Sometimes, Ralph would join them but mostly he would not want to “waste the time” and would retreat to his home office to get some work done. Now, this practice changed for mom and son. They sat closer together, soon pressed right up against each other. The choice of films, while never quite pornographic, became steamier.
On one evening in late September, Monica and Tim had their first real kiss. With a bowl of popcorn balanced on their hips, Monica began to playfully swat away Tim’s hand as he tried to get a handful of popcorn. The bowl tipped and spilled the contents onto the floor. Monica giggled and said, “Look what you did, buster!”
