Fit Mom Ch. 01

The following is a true story about an experience I went through with my mother a few years ago. I'm a very different person now than who I used to be, and not entirely in a good way. Since this is a sex story site, I'm going to make this "hot" so to speak, since I enjoy stories about incest like this one. But I think I read these type of stories more for the therapy than for the thrill. I'm hoping that writing this out, in every detail, will help me deal better with the past. Thank you for reading.

---

I was staying at home for the summer after my sophomore year of college. That weekend, my mom had discovered a Facebook chat I had with a friend...somehow it was open on my phone and it came up when it was unlocked.

First, I want to say that I'm not some kind of sociopathic frat idiot that screws everything that moves. But, I did get a little too drunk last night, and I participated in a threesome with two girls. Little did I know (or remember), that one of the girl's roommates took pictures of the whole affair, and somehow my psudeo-friend from college was now in possession of them.

In addition, it was during a "break" period with my longtime girlfriend. While I technically didn't do anything "wrong" in a relationship sense, her finding out about my dalliance would do a lot of damage to our now on-again relationship.

The chat consisted of a lot of dirty talk, not because I was a masochist who got off on talking about women like they are carnal animals, but because I wanted to stay on the guy's good side. If we stayed "friends" then there was a chance he wouldn't upload the pictures to the internet, and my bad judgement would disappear. And so, the chat was filled with all kinds of comparisons of tits, talk about licking pussy, which girl was better, etc.

The point being, it wasn't "me." If I had to describe me, I would say I was a good guy. My whole teenage (and now college) life had centered around how I looked, but I always obtained stellar grades and was aspiring to be a doctor one day. In most families, good grades and aspirations would be rewarded. But not by my mother, and my dad was indifferent.

If you asked me if I loved my mom, I would say 'yes", but I was never really sure what that meant. I never thought much of who, or what she was, to be honest. I guess I never thought she was much more than a housewife. And she was a poor housewife at that. It seemed like she really took pleasure in annoying my father or acting selfishly when he needed something for her. In a lot of ways, she was more immature than me.

I mean, she was the woman who raised me, but I'd always had a real relationship with my dad. I was grateful for her feeding me and doing my laundry. Was that love? It made me happy when I was a kid when she'd put a band-aid on my scraped knee. Was that love? Did I like the woman? I don't think I did, no. She was too self-centered and in some kind of weird denial about her age. It was hard for me to put my finger on, even as I grew older.

My mom always wanted me to be popular, first and foremost. She was one of those women who had "aged well" but didn't "age wise." She looked great for her age, worked out like it was a drug, but was way too involved with me and my younger sister's social lives. She read every celebrity magazine and talked about the gossip columns like most people talked about their friend circle. She obsessed over what happened to people she went to highschool with and hadn't seen in person for over thirty years (but she actively stalked on Facebook), and she had this weird penchant for being vulgar about sex.

How vulgar? She made jokes about how long I lasted when I lost my virginity. How great my ass looked. Whether my sister would have an orgasm based on looks of the boy she was dating. To deal with my mom was to deal with an immature sibling that happened to have given birth to you. Where most kids felt oppressed because they couldn't do drugs and fuck everything that moved, I was oppressed because I avoided those stereotypes and instead wanted to better myself. She never helped in that arena, and I always held it against her.

Then this stupid phone chat happened, and it turned a bad situation to worse.

Much worse.

It was a quiet afternoon, very sunny, and she had just returned from a run. She had a light sweat and was wearing just a sports bra and some tight running shorts. My mom is the ultimate suburban stereotype of a trophy wife: great body, big bluish green eyes, and shoulder length brunette hair.

"I saw the chat you had on your phone with that Chad boy."

I was standing by the cupboard, looking for a sports drink, having just returned from the gym myself (our family is very sports/fitness oriented, thanks to her). I just froze and stayed quiet, waiting for her to get angry.

"Seems you're having some fun at college."

I just stayed quiet and sipped my drink. I felt very embarrassed. I knew her interest wouldn't stop anytime soon.

"It's ok, hun, I was actually really happy. I mean, it's important to be get that stuff out of your system when you're young. Lord knows I wish I had done even more than I did. And I can see why they look at you like that. Not, like, you know, I myself see that, but I can see how they would."

I kept my head down and licked my lips. I hadn't turned to face her yet.

"Uhm, thanks." I said.

She laughed a bit, "Hey, turn around," she said, rubbing her hand on my shoulder a bit. "Don't be ashamed."

It wasn't everyday that your mom suddenly knew the vulgar details of your sex life. I turned and she put her arm on my shoulder.

"I know how this must be awkward for you. But you know, I had a lot of fun in college myself. A lot of fun, like what you're having. If you ever want to talk about it we can."

I wasn't sure what she meant by that. I definitely didn't want to find out more about how slutty my mother was in college.

"OK, cool."

She sort of rubbed the back of my head for awhile and looked me in the eye. As I've said, my mother was, by the admission of every man in the world except me, really attractive. Her breasts had only grown fuller and nicer since the photos I had seen of when she was smaller-chested in high school. I can remember my dad advising me to marry a girl with smallish tits, since more often than not, they filled out over time. According to him, young girls with big tits turned into old women with "sandbags." My dad wasn't exactly politically correct either, but at least he wasn't mean-spirited.

In this awkward moment, I glanced down, and thought of his advice. For the first time, I realized where it came from.

"You told Chad you're an abs and boobs guy, huh?"

I looked away, "Jeez." Did she really read the whole thing? I expected her to joke around with me, but there wasn't any humor in the air. She just kept stroking my head and looking at me. There was a period of silence, and I looked to her a few times. She just kept staring, and I got a little uncomfortable.

"Hey, uhm, if I ask you to do something for me, don't think it's weird? Ok? And you can't say no, because you're my son."

The line "Because you're my son" has to be the most oppressive sentence in existence. sort of crossed my brow, "What?"

She stood in front of me, took both my hands, and placed them on her exposed abs.

"Just kind of feel mine, and tell me if they feel like those girls in the pictures."

I took my hands away, "No, why?"

She shushed me, "Ssshhh, just do me this favor ok? It would mean a lot to me. It's not like I can ask just anybody. Come on, it's not a big deal."

"No! It's messed up..."

She took both my cheeks in her hand. I towered over her by a good 4 inches, but I felt intimidated.

"Just feel them for a minute, it won't kill you. Now come on..."

She took my hands again and placed them on her midriff. I looked up and took a deep breath. Somehow I felt I had to proceed to escape any punishment, so I looked at her.

"What do you want me to do?"

She put her hands on my shoulders. "Just squeeze, tell me if I feel as tight as they felt."

To be clear, before this moment, I never had a sexual feeling for my mother. I'd be lying, as all men do, if I told you I never looked at her body in a sexual way. Growing up as a kid, with my hormones firing on all cylinders, I had a few glances at her body that probably weren't pure. But I never, ever thought about her in a sexual way for more than a passing moment.

But then I looked down, and I touched her moist abs, and I dug my hands into her. She walked into me and pressed me into the counter. I could feel her against my cock. It made me uncomfortable, but she didn't seem to read my reaction, or perhaps didn't care. Her grin was wide and white.

"Go ahead, feel into me."

I wasn't sure how to give her what she wanted. I sort of pushed my palms into her skin and massaged her.

"Are they nice? Like those girls?"

I nodded, "Sure."

She laughed a little and put her hands on my cheeks, "OK, you're just going to lie to me, so I'm gonna find out the truth."

The position we were in was weirdly intimate. Her crotch was up against mine, my hands were feeling her body, and her toned arms were outstretched and touching my face, her fingers clinched behind my head. She closed her eyes and smiled.

"That feels kinda good."

I kept it up, and I had a moment of weakness. I looked at her neck and tan arms and I had some kind of sexual flashback. I always liked to start into a girl by putting my face in between her neck and shoulder, kissing, nuzzling, I don't know. My mom had great arms. Little dots of freckles, perfect skin tone, a little muscle showing...

"Ah! There. I got it."

She backed away, my fingers trailed off her skin. She looked down, as did I. I was half erect, and she had felt it.

I rolled my eyes, "Jesus mom, come on."

She laughed. "I guess I still got it, huh? Thanks honey."

I tried to place my hands in front of my erection, but it was too prominent.

"Damn, that's got to be a tough monkey to manage, huh?"

She put her hand on her hip and kept staring at it.

"Why don't you show it to your old mom?"

I shook my head, "Mom, I gotta go."

I tried to walk away but she put her hand on my shoulder, "No, don't you leave yet. I'm not done with you."

I wasn't sure if she would threaten to tell my dad about the chat and the pics, or ground me, or any of a bevy of other things.

"I've seen it a million times, what's one more gonna hurt? I wanna see how you've grown. It looked big in the pictures."

"Mom, no. This isn't funny."

A normal mother would have realized she was making her son uncomfortable, but my mom wasn't nearly that empathetic.

"Fine, I don't think I even need your help to see how big it is."

If some imaginary line hadn't been crossed already, she took care of that by removing her sports bra. She was beaming with confidence as her tits fell free. I'd never been confronted with her breasts like that before, and I wasn't sure how to deal with it psychologically.

It would have been easy to deal with if they were typical old, saggy mom boobs. But they weren't, they were legitimately some of the nicest I'd ever seen in person. The way the sunlight was shining on her very softly from the window behind me and she looked...good. I tried to look away, I really did. The whole situation was so gross and strange, I didn't want anything to do with it, but my body was responding.

"Come on, have a look. I work hard to look like this."

My eyes followed her hand to her nipple, which she was caressing. She started slowly jostling her right breast while she stared at my cock. I couldn't help myself. My mind kind of glazed over, and I stared. I had no idea she could move her hands over her body so seductively.

"Yea, there we go, there, he's saying hello."

I looked down and I was almost fully erect. I put my hand over my area. She stepped forward and brushed my arms aside. Her tits were nearly touching my chest and I have to admit, I was a little mesmerized. My cock kept getting harder.

"Closer, closer, closer, aaandd..."

The head of my cock pushed against my gym shorts and touched her bare midriff. She let out this cooing, sexy sound, like she just drank a cold glass of water.

"Aaaahhh, there it is..."

Her white teeth bore a big grin as her eyes closed to enjoy her victory. I couldn't help but notice, in my heightened state, how pretty she looked.

She backed up suddenly, and my cock let me know it was disappointed.

"There, that settles it, I'm still hot. So much for what that bitch Sharlene thinks."

She started to put her bra back on as she left the room, as if the little sex show I'd just received was just a nuisance. I didn't know who Sharlene was, but she must have pissed my mother off something awful.

I went and sat at the kitchen table, trying to sort out what had just happened. I was mad at her for being so aggressive, and for using me the way she did. But I felt a lot of guilt for not exiting the situation and for letting my body respond.

I sort of covered my face in my hands. I wanted to wipe away the feeling of being attracted to her, but it was strange. It was like I'd found a way to have strong emotions towards my mother for the first time, and I didn't know if I wanted to let that go.

Then the second wave of "aw, fuck, gross" came. She was my mom! There's thing you just don't do in life, and one of them is get a boner over your mother. Then again, are you supposed to sexually objectify yourself for your own son? She's the one who did what she did, who started "this." And thing that grinded on me the most was that I was tearing myself up about it, and she was probably on to her next daily chore without so much as a thought.

I went upstairs to my room to get cleaned up. I had too much shit to do to bother worrying about my half-crazy mother that day.

--

Over the next week, my mind played games with me. I tried to avoid her as much as I could, but it was impossible to avoid her completely. The worst was when she would wear something revealing. One night, over a family dinner, she had on a dress with a scooped-out top that showed off her cleavage.

What really drove me nuts was that her breasts looked better in person than they did clothed. Most girls, in a bra or bikini, look more seductive clothed then nude. It's like some kind of universal rule, or something. My mom, though...her tits were just a knockout. One hint at how they were shaped sent me over the edge.

That night, with her wearing that dress over dinner, I really had a problem. I couldn't mentally control myself from catching glimpses of her breasts. Now that I knew how they looked, I kept trying to mentally visualize them as they heaved on her chest in the dress. I couldn't stop myself. I was so horny over dinner that I about lost my mind.

The worst part? She caught me. I looked up from one so-called stolen glimpse to find her looking at me, smiling slightly. My dad was talking, and she looked back his way, but in that moment I knew she saw me gawking at her. I didn't know how it made her feel. She had shown no remorse, or guilt, or really anything at all in response to the little incident we had in the kitchen.

---

Something like two weeks after the incident, I was on my way out of the shower, which had suddenly started spouting cold water near the end, leaving me feeling a little frazzled. I wrapped my bottom half in a towel and left the bathroom.

I walked back to my room to find my mother in my bed, a towel wrapped around her head, laying under the comforter.

"Hey stranger!" she said, a big smile on her face.

"Mom, what the fuck!"

She shook her finger at me, "Hey! Language, mister. Watch it."

Really mom? You're tell me not to be vulgar?

"Did you get in the shower while I was in there? You took all the hot water."

She gasped, "Oh goodness, then you must be freezing, sitting there, dripping cold water and all. You should hop in here with me."

She sort of giggled girlishly.

"Mom, you gotta quit doing this, this is sick."

Her face sort of contorted. "Oh, ok then. I guess you're right. Here, go ahead and change..."

She pulled down the comforter so that her heaving breasts sat just above the comforter, which she pulled tight against her body. She laid her arms back behind her head. They looked toned and tan.

"I'll just give you something to enjoy while you do."

I stared. I knew I shouldn't have, but I looked at her like a caveman. I would be lying if I had much else on my idle mind for the last two weeks besides how great her rack had looked that day. And there it was again, open bare and in my bed.

"You can come closer honey. I just know you liked these, and I like having you look."

"No, mom."

I walked over to my dresser, turning away from her. I went to my dresser, hoping to find some boxers so I could change in the other room. The drawer was empty. I looked to the shelves where my jeans, pants, and shirts sat in the closet. Empty as well. I looked to the ground.

"Mom, this has got to stop."

She giggled that girlish giggle again. "Stop what? Come over here and talk to me."

I sighed. "I'm going downstairs to the hamper." I started walking out of the room.

"You know, I finally figured out how to send that chat with Chad to my email."

I slowed down and then stopped.

"It's up to you if you want me to tell your dad. Or somebody else. It really is up to you."

I knew full well my dad wouldn't care. She was threatening to tell my girlfriend, or someone else I knew with a big mouth. Facebook stalking had given her the lowdown on how to share my secrets.

"I promise it won't be a big deal. Come over here."

I turned, and feeling I had no choice, walked and stood above her on the bed. I kept my gaze straight ahead, looking above and away from her.

"I want to get to know more about you."

I just waited and sighed. Finally I asked, "Like what?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her grinning. "How often do you masturbate?"

I gulped. More of this?

"Once a day."

"Liar! Seriously?"

I nodded, "Yea, most days."

She sat up a bit, "Did you do it in the shower?"

"Uh, no."

"Were you going to come in here and do it?"

I shrugged, "Maybe."

She giggled that girlish giggle. "You're so bad," she said in a sultry voice. "Look at me please, don't be mean."

I looked at her, right in the eyes.

"No, silly, look at what you want to see."

She was wrong, because I didn't mind taking in her face and smile, as sick as it made me feel. I don't know why I didn't just walk away. Maybe I felt for her need to feel wanted. Maybe I really was a little too attracted to her already. But I looked down, and I felt the endorphin rush any man feels when he sees a perfect pair of tits.

"What about when you look at these? Do you want to masturbate?"

I could feel my eyes sink. They were so luscious. And she was being so utterly slutty.

"Uh huh," was all my murky mind could say.

She pulled in a sharp sigh, "That's hot. I like that."

She licked her lips, "Listen, women really, really like to feel wanted. And...whatever this is, I love it. I fucking love it," she said, whimpering. She almost never cursed, "So I want you to touch yourself while you look at me."

"Mom..."

"I know, I know. But if we don't go too far, nobody gets hurt. It's just fun! I know it's bad, and all that crap, but you're a grown man. And I'm going to be disgusting looking in about, oh hell, what, a year? Two years? However long I have left, I wanna feel this way. I don't give a fuck anymore what I'm supposed to do, or you're supposed to do. Come on, you know you like this."

I hesitated. I looked down at my feet and really tried to find an excuse to put a stop to this that wouldn't enrage her.