Never take anyone for granted, especially a loving husband. One moment Don was there, and the next moment he was gone, leaving me and his son from a previous marriage alone. His biological mother was nowhere to be found, and Theo had been too young to remember her anyway. I didn’t care to waste time searching since she obviously had no interest in the boy. Now it was just him and me against the world, but that was plenty for me. Grief took a long time to process, for both of us, until it softened enough to not upend our lives. Still…
“Mom, I’ll never get over it.” My beautiful stepson, now eighteen and about to graduate from high school, sipped a tall glass of cold milk, eyes gazing into the distance. He had pushed his dinner plate aside after eating half of the roasted chicken breast and vegetables. He finished the milk, licking his lips, eyes turning toward mine. “But life goes on, right?”
I smiled a sad smile, not responding immediately as I savored his loving gaze. He had his father’s eyes, deep and dark. I could stare into his father’s eyes forever, mesmerized, and Theo’s were very much the same.
“Yes, honey. Yes, it does.” Patting his cheek, I took his plate, placing it on top of mine. I had finished my food, having starved myself at work by skipping lunch.
At thirty-eight, I had developed a paunch that stopped me from wearing certain form-fitting dresses. I used to take pride in my body, but had been neglecting my health since Don passed. Now I felt like a swollen, old bag, and that was going to change! After trying several different colors of Ms. Clairol, I decided to live with the ever-increasing amount of grey streaking my dark auburn hair. The double-D breasts that Don loved so much now sagged somewhat, nipples starting to point at the floor. I was angry at myself over how much time I spent looking at myself in the mirror. Yes, I was an average woman, but this was bordering on a bad obsession!
"You're beautiful, Mom," Theo would often remark. "Stop scowling so much when you look at yourself.” My stepson was very observant, keenly sensitive to the energy in most any situation.
One bright morning, he caught me staring at my nude body in the long mirror of the master bedroom. I was about to put on that bright, flowered dress I just bought for work and got lost in the countless flaws; the ugly moles, stretch marks, and blemishes all over my body, not to mention the ever-increasing effects of gravity.
“Oh, sorry,” Theo stuttered as he appeared behind me in the mirror, quickly averting his eyes to the floor. I was jolted from my reverie, startled, but managed to respond.
“It’s okay, Theo.” I quickly slipped my thick, comfy robe back on, pulling the sash tight around my waist. Neither Don nor I was prudish, and while I wasn't an exhibitionist, Theo knew what my body looked like from head to toe.
“I’m off,” he said, without skipping a beat.
“See you tonight, love.” I smiled. He turned to leave, but I stopped him.
“Where’s my hug?”
“Oh.” He smiled that little smirkish grin that let me know he was embarrassed. Averting his eyes, he wrapped his arms around me, and I gave him a big, full-body squeeze. I could hear his breath quicken as he held me for several seconds until I finally patted his butt.
“Stay out of trouble, young man.”
“Uh-huh.”
The next moment, I heard the front door slam downstairs and the school bus screech to a halt at the end of the block. As the bus roared away, I tossed the robe back on the bed, slipping on bra and panties, then the dress I found on the discount rack at Newberry’s. I glanced at the clock and got my primping done just in time to dash out the door.
Being a full-time stenographer at a small, specialty legal firm downtown wasn’t necessarily difficult or stressful, which is why I never understood my fatigue at the end of the day. As I nosed my blue Falcon home, I watched people on the streets, especially at the stop lights. Quitting time was when things were the busiest. Glancing between the red light and my surroundings, I picked them out, one by one, each person ready fodder for whatever fantasy danced in my tired brain that particular afternoon.
An old man stood at the corner one afternoon, a young woman by his side. Was she his daughter? Maybe his caretaker? Perhaps they had visited the pharmacy to pick up a prescription, or maybe had soup and sandwiches at the lunch counter. The look on his face said he was tired and wanted to get somewhere, most likely home.
Only one of hundreds of scenarios I dreamed up on those countless afternoons.
“Mom, why don’t you go out with your friends more? Maybe go on a date?” My stepson asked one evening as we vegetated in front of the boob tube.
“What?” My brow furrowed. “Why?”
“Don’t you miss going out and doing things? Having fun?”
At a momentary loss for words, I wasn't sure whether to chalk it up to blind innocence or if my stepson was wise beyond his years. I knew it was the latter.
“Well, you and I do things.” I turned my gaze to meet his. “Go to the movies, go bowling...a drive in the country. That's fun stuff, isn't it?”
“I know, I know, Mom, but…” He paused, eyes returning to the flickering television, perhaps looking for the right words. “I don’t know. That’s different.”
As we were sitting next to each other on the big, comfy sofa, I slipped my arm around his shoulders, pulling him against me, forcing a sigh from my favorite boy.
“I’m glad you’re aware of things, my love,” I whispered into his tousled, brown hair. “But don’t worry. I’ll take care of things my own way.”
Alas, my own way wasn’t making it. Don and I had an exceptionally active and rewarding sex life, and despite the grief, I soon came to long for those many torrid nights of his animal-like behavior in the bedroom. The constant pall of celibacy weighed inside my body like a lead ingot, forcing my thoughts to wander into base eroticism at the least provocation. The most unlikely things became sexually stimulating to me. With red cheeks and throbbing pussy, I often wondered if this is how a man felt all of the time as I stared at several long, thick cucumbers with their shiny, dark green skins while shopping for groceries.
At one exceptionally long stoplight, the last intersection right before the long road which took me from downtown to the suburbs where we lived, I eyed a particularly stocky, and studly, young man standing on the corner. Alongside him was a very petite, and considerably older, blonde woman, a multi-colored scarf tied around her chin, covering her hair to combat the windy afternoon. Her skirt was decidedly short for someone obviously over forty, but I hardly cared about that. She had pretty legs and wanted to show them off.
The fact that he had his hand around her tiny waist made me think for a moment. There had to be at least twenty years' difference in their ages, and it certainly wasn’t a way any son, nephew, or other close blood relation would touch me, at least not in public, as unpuritanical as I was. My brain couldn’t help but spin up.
What was their relation? Was she his mother, and they were just overly affectionate, or was she a mature lover? The latter seemed much more likely as I watched how he subtly squeezed and rubbed her with great affection, his countenance calm and unmoving, and a serene smile on her face, words unspoken. I didn’t notice that the light had turned green until the moving truck behind me let loose with a heart-stopping blast.
The image of the couple lingered with me all the way home, through the evening meal, and into my bedroom, where I lie in darkness under soft blankets, relaxing, pondering, as usual, my day and the days ahead. Silvery moonlight filtered through gossamer drapes, creating a comforting glow in the room. In the distance, a dog barked, only to be met with other, more distant barks, a nocturnal telegraph passing through miles of genteel, tree-lined neighborhoods. An occasional automobile would pass, but otherwise it was quiet and tranquil.
I dressed for bed differently during the summer months than I did in winter. On this July night, I wore a short suggestion of a nightie and nothing else. Theo hardly visited my bedroom in the evening, and my robe was always nearby for quick cover. The heavy cotton bedsheet felt good rubbing against my naked skin.
I was conservative with the air conditioning, so a window was usually opened a few inches, allowing the scent of the night to waft in. Wind in the trees, crickets chirping, or merely the random sounds of the suburbs accompanied me through the night and whatever dreams my sleep brought.
Slipping into the abyss came slowly most evenings. After reading a few chapters of the latest trashy, pulp romance novel, I’d extinguish the lamp on the nightstand. I’d fluff a big pillow behind my head and shoulders, then stare at the walls and ceiling. Since Don passed, I added a large, firm pillow to my side, a poor imitation of my husband’s body, but it was all I had.
Without a man to satisfy my physical needs, I often slipped a hand between my legs. Slowly, I’d rub the soft mound of fur covering my mons pubis. Like the hair on my head, some greys had started to appear down under, but I didn’t mind. It wasn’t like a man would be seeing them anytime soon. I’d draw up my right knee as my middle finger slid up and down my pussy lips until it flushed with lifeblood, growing hot and moist.
I would sigh and smile in the near-darkness as one, then two fingers would slip inside, just a bit, teasing my swollen clit, rubbing that sweet spot. My left hand slipped inside my nightie, cupping a breast. The nipple on my right tit was the most sensitive, so I favored it, massaging the ample mound, tugging at the hard bud while my other hand frigged away in juicy slickness.
That particular night, I couldn’t help but think about the young stud and his petite ladyfriend. Perhaps he had a thing for older women? As I said, I wasn't a prude, but I doubted a son would touch his mother that way, but what did I know? By then, I was tugging my nipple brusquely while soft squishing noises emanated from below.
Moving my hips as if I were making love always heightened the ecstasy. As my eyelids fluttered, numerous images of men, including my husband, flitted through my brain as if I were flipping through the Rolodex in my office, and I couldn’t help but return to the young man and older woman standing patiently at the curb in the fading light of downtown, his strong, firm hand grasping her form, keeping their bodies close. It became an endless loop in my head.
Jesus, what if she WAS his mother? His caress was very loving. At his young age, did he still live with her? My pulsing brain expounded on the vision, taking on new life well beyond fact. If they behaved that way in public, how did they behave at home, in private? Was there a husband? Did he condone that level of affection? What if they were like me, without a husband? My wet fingers never faltered from their duty.
By then, I could feel the swell of an approaching wave. That was the time I squeezed my eyes shut and brought out the most erotic memory-visions in my mental library. There was the time Don discovered my hidden kink, nipple torture, and forced me through countless violent orgasms. Earlier that night, he had proposed marriage. There was also a feral lover from my first year of college who would ravish me from behind, filling my bowels with copious gobs of cum. He would pull my hair and bellow obscenities as our bodies noisily slapped together. God, my ass would be sore for days after his brutal punishment! Still, I craved his return.
Then the wish-fantasies invaded, like being cornered and having my clothes ripped from my body by a huge, muscular man of color. I whimpered and gasped as he ravished me with his massive, rock-hard cock, also the humiliation of being dragged from the shower by my sorority sisters. They would rub oil all over my nude body, their expert hands caressing, rubbing, tweaking, pinching, tugging, and titillating until I wept on the brink of climax. Then, still aroused and glistening, I was put on display for all to see as the sisters auctioned me off to a group of ravenous lesbians. Sweet lord, the dreams of the everyday housewife!
Suddenly, a powerful new vision pushed them all aside. Fingers urgently slopping in my burning, wet hole, I envisioned my young downtown stud entering the petite woman’s bedroom. Yes, they were mother and son, and yes, she turned to kiss him full on the mouth while she unbuttoned his shirt to reveal a smooth, solid chest. He had to be at least a foot, maybe a foot and a half taller than the woman who birthed him. While he gazed down at her, silently gripping her shoulders, she took his red nipple in her mouth and began to suck.
Son groaned and began impatiently tugging at her dress. As the mother continued to feast, she reached back to lower her zipper, completing the motion a second before he pushed it down to her waist to reveal small breasts encased in a white lace bra. She switched nipples, hungry mouth eagerly drawing anew on his tender bud, but she let out a yelp as he ripped the bra from her body. The next moment, she stepped out of the dress, body trembling with anticipation, her only remaining garment a pair of white granny panties, which quickly vanished with a loud rip of silk.
“Oh, fuck, yeah, Mom,” I murmured to myself. “Get him naked. Get your son naked.”
I got my wish, and soon marveled at his perfect physique. Charles Atlas had nothing on this young stud. The men in my fantasies never disappointed. Aside from his chiseled body, no surprise, he was hung like a horse.
“Goddamn!” I bit my lower lip, wanting so much to be the mother.
His massive rod jutted out like a telephone pole, drooping slightly due to the sheer weight of it. Yes, perhaps I envisioned more than reality would provide, but it was MY fantasy, wasn’t it?
With a bear-like swipe of his hand, mother literally flew onto the bed, crying out as she landed in a cocoon of soft blankets. Mouth agape, she backed up until the headboard prevented her from going further. Instinctively, her legs spread wide to reveal a thick bush as his shadow loomed. Bedsprings creaked as he crawled up the bed to feast on his prey.
There was no hesitation as son mounted mother, his shaft impaling her helpless body. Her pussy must have been drooling. That and her extreme familiarity with accepting his manhood were the only reasons I could think of why her tiny body could handle a monster shaft like his. She literally disappeared underneath a solid mass of tensing muscle, only the soles of her feet visible as she tried to clamp her legs around his slim waist.
“Go deep inside, my horny boy, fuck me deep!” She snarled a lusty cry. Mother’s body responded like a rag doll as son ravished her without reserve. “Goddammit, harder, son, HARDER, make it HURT!”
“Oh, holy fuck,” I whispered as I felt my senses reaching that delicious peak, sweet juices trickling down the crack of my ass. “Fuck her hard,” I whimpered. Digging my thumbnail into my tortured nipple, I was almost there. “Goddamn, ravish her, ravish ME, you fucking stud! Give it up! Give mommy your incestuous seed!” She and I had become the same person, if only for that climactic moment.
“God…DAAAMMMNNN!” I growled, nose crinkling as I bared pearlescent teeth in the dim light.
Their bodies convulsed together, mother and son, as did mine. Trying not to cry out, I kicked the blankets back, juices spritzing from my body as I fought not to fall out of bed. The orgasm was so very intense. “Fuck, yes, son, fuuuck!” Speeding up to savor every delicious surge of pleasure, my hand slapped wetly against sticky, matted fur, juices splattering everywhere.
“So good, my young stud,” I whimpered, “sooo fucking goood.”
My hips thrust languidly against the imaginary son as I rode down from the crest, in time, a moment of tranquility overtaking my soul, but it would not last. The void of celibacy, the lack of a loving male body in my bed, quickly overtook warm afterglow.
I took a deep breath, then another, my eyes blinking open for a second before squeezing back shut. Gentle sobs multiplied in my chest, and tears streaked down my cheeks as I curled up into a fetal position, weeping gently, fingers still deep inside as aftershocks of the climax forced spasms through my body.
As quickly as they started, tears ceased. Another few minutes passed, but I couldn't bear to move. I didn't want the vision of mother and son to dissipate. I was about to lick the musky goo from my fingers when a voice in the distance jolted me out of the fog.
“Mom?”
It was Theo. He was in the room, and it was real! Holy shit! My eyes opened to his silhouette next to the bedroom door.
“Mom, are you okay?”
Thinking coherently was not an easy task at that moment as I quickly pulled the bedclothes up to cover my body. How long had my stepson been in the room?
“Theo?” I managed to respond, my...
