Incest Spiral Revisited

"If Max and his friends could only see me now," I thought, "I'm sure I could produce some erections, some hard cocks."

Why did I include Max in my vulgar thoughts? Were the ride home and the Sunday morning incident still haunting my libido? I surely do not think of my son in that manner. He's a beautiful, healthy, clean cut boy and I love him to death but not . . .

Then recognition surfaced. The feeling of anticipation, the urgency to be ready and the painstaking primping was because I was excited to be alone with Max for the weekend. I could have him all to myself and I wanted to look good when he came home from work. There was nothing wrong with wanting to look good for your son, was there?

The chimes of the clock downstairs signaled four thirty, Max would be home soon and I was still unclothed. I gave my hair a few last minute strokes with the brush and opened the underwear drawer.

"I think I'll wear white," I said aloud, smiling.

Donning khaki Gurkha shorts that flattered my bare legs and an emerald green, v-neck tee shirt, once again I consulted the lady in the mirror. Both the shorts and shirt were taut in the right spots, but at least I didn't look like a cougar. I finished off with white tennies and a thin gold chain around my neck.

Unable to quell the anticipatory feeling of excitement I reveled in it, singing and dancing down the stairs like a school girl waiting for her date. God, I must be crazy, or at the very least turning senile.

"Hey Mom, I'm home," he called from the basement. "I'll be up as soon as I shower."

During my internal discussion concerning mental illness options I had failed to hear Max's car. I moved to the top basement step and ask Max if I could get him something to drink. He stepped into view at the bottom clad only in his dirty work shorts. I could see streaks on his bare chest where rivulets of sweat had eroded the day's accumulated grime. He looked ruggedly handsome. He declined my offer to bring him anything.

"I only work half a day tomorrow," He said, continuing to look up the steps. "So we can have our date. Where would you like to eat?"

His eyes quickly slid over my breasts and came to rest on my thighs. From his angle I wondered how far up my shorts he could see? I realized I wanted him to see up my shorts. I stood legs apart, arms akimbo while we discussed dining arrangements for the next evening. His eyes kept dropping to my legs and he seemed willing to talk forever.

"You da' man, you decide," I quipped. "Now go take your shower."

I hated to relinquish the moment but I didn't want to do something I would regret. I'm a mature, married woman I should be able to handle a few transient urges. Forty-five minutes later the object of my mental confusion entered the kitchen fully dressed in chinos, golf shirt and loafers. As was his habit, Max walked over and gave me a kiss on the forehead.

"How was your day, mom?"

Though not my habit, I slipped my arms around his waist, both of us aware of my breasts against his chest.

"Ok, I guess, a little lonely."

Stepping out of my hug he held me at arms length and apologetically announced he was going into the city with friends. Cold disappointment replaced the warm anticipation. Declining dinner Max left for his evening out; I wondered if he had a date and if so, was she pretty?

Over a cold ham sandwich and coffee, I pondered my irrational urges and actions of the past thirteen days. The line between maternal love and carnal passion seemed blurred. Grasping at straws, I reasoned it to be the result of a woman's two greatest fears; getting older and the empty nest syndrome. In bed that night, submitting to my self analysis, I thought controlling the situation was a manageable task; I would not loose the succubus.

Max had left for work by the time I opened my eyes to the morning sun. I felt refreshed, happy and in control. I was looking forward to this evening's date with my son. No anxiety, no inappropriate thoughts just gleeful anticipation.

Rolling in about noon, Max announced he had made reservations for seven o'clock at Moby's.

"Dockside, weather permitting," he said grasping me by the shoulders and kissing me on each cheek, French style.

Moby's is an upscale seafood restaurant on the shore of a small nearby lake. They offer seafood, fresh daily and lots of atmosphere. Carl and I dine there often.

"Great choice, honey, I can't wait."

The remainder of day evaporated in chores and errands for both Max and me. With a forty-five minute drive to the lake, we would have to leave around six. About an hour and a half before, I retired to my bedroom to prepare.

Showered, primped, brushed and painted I stood before the closet deciding between dresses or slacks when I saw the new halter top sundress. I pulled it off the hanger and laid it on the bed. Tan pumps would bring me closer to Max's eye level and make my legs look shapelier.

"Ready or not here I come," I yelled to Max waiting downstairs.

When I reached the top of the stairs I found Max standing at the bottom. From his vantage point, I thought my date might be enjoying another leg show. Grinning, I made a production of prancing my way down the steps. From the last step I tipped toward my son who caught me in his arms and held me a half dozen heart beats too long.

Freed from the grasp I realized two things; a woman who analyzes herself has a fool for a patient and I loved to be in the arms of my son.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

On the drive Max told me, "You're the best looking date I've had this year."

Laughing, I replied, "I'm probably the only date you've had this year!"

As we entered Moby's, Max wrapped my arm around his and whispered that he wanted to make sure everyone knew I was his date. I responded by wrapping both arms around his and squeezing my titties against him.

We were shown to a table on the veranda, better known as Moby's Dockside, where Max ordered a red wine with a fancy name and told the waiter we would order dinner after a glass of wine. It tasted excellent and I was flattered to think that Max had done his vino homework just to impress me. My son had just finished his first year of pre-med; I wasn't naive enough to think the experience didn't include alcohol, but I doubted he'd become a wine connoisseur.

We ate lobster salads, reminisced, drank wine, laughed, talked about the future, drank wine, laughed and punctuated our stories with touches. It really did feel like a date. The breeze turned cool as we nursed our coffee; Max draped his sport coat over my shoulders and leaned down to kiss me on the temple.

The two fifties Carl advanced Max covered the check and tip, but not by much, Max's profit was pretty shabby but I felt he really enjoyed the company. I took the offered arm as we strolled to the car through the cool spring night. As I got into the car I thanked my date for a lovely dinner and returned his jacket.

Before he closed my door he looked at me and said, "This has been the most enjoyable date I've ever had, I mean that."

At the table we had talked about how I enjoyed dancing and how Max and Carl tolerated it to keep the peace. Now, on the drive home Max offered to stop at the country club, which had a dance band almost every Saturday night. It was only a little past ten but I took a rain check fearing the magic of the evening would be intruded upon by friends and neighbors.

Arriving home about eleven I excused myself to freshen up. Max moved to the living room and loaded a CD from the Big Band era. I found him waiting with arms outstretched in a dance posture, and Benny Goodman, circa 1940, had just started one of his rag numbers. I went to Max and we started a lazy jitterbug; both of us were surprised at how well the other could dance the retro moves.

There's unavoidable hand body contact when jitterbugging, and every brush of my breast or bump of hips was like electric current. I think Max felt it also. One move, a spin out and roll up brings the woman up against the man's chest, usually performed at the end of the number.

At the end of the third song I rolled into Max's embrace and he held me tight, looking into my eyes he brought his lips to mine and held a long, sweet but non-invasive kiss, full on my mouth. Without reserve, I melted into his arms and into the kiss. Astride his extended leg, my mons pressed against his muscular thigh; my heart's rhythm pounded in my ears. The kiss broke, but he held me close and I pushed against him, kissing his neck.

In a very husky voice he said, "Mom, I'm sorry but I can't help it, I love you, I'm in love with you."

I felt I was right on a ragged edge, and that I would soon be unable to keep my desires in check, I reluctantly extracted myself from his embrace. 'I am the mother, here, I am the adult,' I tried to keep that thought uppermost in my mind.

Tears were visible in Max's eyes and threatening to spill over. I led him to the couch, sat him down then turned out the lights. We could talk almost anonymously, as the only illumination was that of the under cabinet lights escaping the kitchen. I sat down beside my sweet young suitor.

For awhile neither of us said anything nor touched the other. My instincts to protect and reassure him were at war with my desire to have him. The closeness alone brought a warm, tight feeling between my thighs. In the semi-darkness soft, ragged breathing was the only sound; the CD had long ceased.

Taking his hand in mine, trying to satisfy both instincts, I said, "Max, it sounds silly, but I feel like we have started to date. Who knows, by the end of the week we may laugh at all this and tuck it away as a most cherished memory." Steeped in self-delusion, I continued, "You can call me Robbie when we're alone; it's short for Roberta, as you know."

Ignoring the ramifications of what we were doing, in order to take what we both wanted, we agreed to the dating thing, no matter how goofy it sounded.

I realized we had been holding hands through the whole discussion. Mashing my bosom against my son, I kissed him full on the lips and whispered 'I love you' in his ear. We spent the next hour entwined in each other's arms, kissing often (sans tongue) nibbling at facial features and talking about our situation.

Max explained he'd developed a crush on me the past few years, and being away at college seemed to intensify his feelings. He said the last couple of weeks had been a struggle to keep his feelings to himself. The ride home from the wedding proved to be the point of no return; he could feel my warmth and knew absolutely he was in love with his own mother. He elected to stay with his friends that evening because he feared if we were alone in the house, he would blurt out something he wasn't sure we could handle.

He also confessed that when he entered the kitchen that Sunday morning he understood it was an awkward situation. Leaving would have been the gentlemanly thing to do but he couldn't take his eyes off me.

"It's okay, Max. It's exciting for a woman to know she excites a man. I'm glad you think I'm pretty and sexy."

My part consisted of telling Max I had adored him from the time the obstetrician laid him on my naked belly and how, from that time on, I felt a special attachment for him above and beyond the love I felt for his father or sister. I told him that since he had returned from college, the subconscious highlight of my day was when he arrived home from work and gave me my little kiss on the forehead.

Feeling talked out, we agreed it was enough to digest for one day; what a day! We would have tomorrow together 'til late evening when Carl would be home.

To say goodnight I leaned against Max and kissed him on the mouth as sweetly as I knew how. My son's arms tightened around me and he lay back dragging me with him. Unresisting, I positioned myself to lay pelvis to pelvis with my son.

A tight hot tingly feeling burned at the bottom of my stomach as Max returned my kisses and showered me with endearments. I could feel the beginning of his erection and pushed against him to let him know I was aware. He took my participation as a green light and moved to explore his new toy. I could feel the heat from his hands through the fabric of my dress as his fingertips probed the cleft of my ass.

Lying there against my son's covered but fully erect penis caused waves of desire to pour over me. I gloried in the fact that I excited my son to the point that he wanted me above all else. I wanted him to make love ... no, I wanted him to fuck me! My new demeanor was changing me into a more carnal, worldly woman.

Max held my ass with both hands and rhythmically forced my pussy against his rigid member. The more I sensed his growing need, the more excited I became. Mustering my last fragment of sanity, I removed the kneading hands from my bottom and sat upright.

"Not to fast, Max, please stop."

"Mom, I ---" he tried to reply.

"There's no need for explanations. I think we have experimented enough for our first date. Let's sleep on it and start tomorrow with clear heads."

With that said; I stood, straightened my dress, gave my son a final buss and headed for the stairway. Four steps up I stopped and looked at my would-be lover.

"Good night honey, and you can forget the Robbie stuff; I love it when you call me mom, mother or even mommy."

Unfulfilled and edgy I lay in my bed tossing and turning, caught between desire and remorse. I have loved my son sweetly since birth, but tonight I crossed the line into lasciviousness. I was naked under the blankets and my fingers caressed a vagina, my cunt, radiating a dull throbbing ache from the depths of those slippery walls.

No! I would not consummate the evening's lustful behavior by pleasuring myself!

After what seemed like hours, stress induced sleep eventually prevailed and I finally slept, freed temporarily from the perverse labyrinth of love and lust for my own son.

The morning felt clean, airy and normal. Normal? Yes, I resigned myself to the fact that I must end the headlong sprint down a path that could only culminate in disaster and heartache. It was seven o'clock; I would soak in the tub for awhile, get dressed and head for the kitchen to prepare the Sunday breakfast. After eating we could discuss what had taken place and the need to end it now.

By eight, I was toweling off and painstakingly applying makeup to look as though I wasn't wearing makeup. While forming the A.M. plans in my mind, I had unthinkingly donned my new nightdress. The length and neckline were modest, but the material hugged my body. Removing the nightie I put on a brassiere, underpants and replaced the nightgown. The pale green frock accented my red hair, still mussed. I looked like a pretty, mature woman just out of bed.

Barefooted, I padded down the stairs and put on the coffee. The first swallow of the steamy, hot liquid seemed somehow to strengthen my resolve to return to a normal relationship with my son. Control!

Why, then, had I taken such pains getting ready this morning, I mused?

No answer was forthcoming, crowded out by the hope that Max found his mother pretty in the morning.

I laid Canadian bacon, English muffins and butter on the counter and cracked four eggs in a mixing bowl. The front door opened and closed; Max getting the paper. No shaking my butt like last week I promised myself. Control, control, control ...

"Good morning mom," Max said, audibly dropping the newspaper on the table.

"Morning," I replied, glancing over my shoulder at my son.

He was also barefooted and wearing only flannel sleep shorts. Attire noted, I returned my attention to preparing scrambled eggs. Stepping quietly behind me, Max wound his arms around me, lacing his fingers together across my protruding belly. His lips brushed my ear as he pulled my body against his.

"I love you, mommy," his breath hot on my neck and smelling of mouthwash. "Mommy, you're beautiful."

So attuned to my desires, my son intuited the significance of last night's parting words. The first reference to his mommy found its way to a slowly smoldering spot in the pit of my stomach; the second started the familiar electric tingle.

"Max, I . . ."

Slipping his hand down to the mound between my thighs he pulled my ass tight against him. Through the cloth of my nightie I could feel my cheeks separating to accommodate his hardening penis. He was no longer a little boy.

"There's no need for explanations, mom, we both have clear heads."

He was lovingly mocking my words; it instantly became clear that Max, not I, was in charge! Abandoning any pretext of controlling or stopping our spiral, I spread my legs to allow him better access to my pussy.

We remained spooned with Max nuzzling my neck and ears while his hands alternately roved over my tits, belly and the swollen lips of my vulva. My contribution was rubbing my bottom against his fully rigid dick.

"God, I love you mom."

"Mommy loves you too honey," the awakening succubus in me replied.

Twisting around to face him, I pushed Max to arms length and stepped aside into the middle of the kitchen.

"But right now I want my little boy to see his mother naked," I said, my voice like sandpaper.

In a single motion I pulled the new nightgown up and over my head discarding it on the nearest chair. The only sound was a quick intake of male breath.

Standing before Max in my bra and panties made me feel more naked than if I'd been totally nude. The throbbing in my cunt connected to my hardened nipples that were making little tents in my bra. I slowly turned a full circle, twice, allowing his eyes to dine as they wished.

"Honey, do you want to finish undressing me?"

Seemingly unable to respond verbally, Max moved forward, his quivering hands reaching for my breasts. Both our bodies trembled at his first touch of white cotton. A duet of moans filled the kitchen as he squeezed my tits through the armor of the under wire. I turned a half circle allowing access to the clasp, hands fumbled and the bra slid down my arms to rest on the kitchen floor.

Before I could turn to face my son his hands snaked under my arms to maul my sagging titties.

"Max, take off my underpants."

He dropped to his knees, still behind me, and hooked his fingers into the waistband. Without theatrics, he pulled the panties to my ankles. I stepped out of the little pile of cotton and stood, not turning, with my feet about sixteen inches apart.

"Mom, you're beautiful," his dry throat rasped. "I love your ass; it's so soft and white."

Almost with reverence, he was kneading my bottom and pasting little kisses along the crease where it joins my thighs. A jolt of fire shot through my body as I felt his tongue touch the very bottom of my vulva then drag itself up the separation of my cheeks to the small of my back.

Stepping away and facing Max I said, "Honey, it's my turn to look; it's been a long time since I've seen you naked."

I moved a half step nearer to him and taking his lead sank to my knees. In front of my face, the green and blue flannel material of the sleep shorts was distorted by his insistent hard-on. Grasping him, through the cloth, I felt unbelievable heat and a girth that relegated my loving husband to an 'also ran'.

Jerking the shorts down tanned legs, I freed Max's member to bob against his flat belly. The length appeared to be average or a little more, somewhere around six or six and a half inches, but with a matching circumference. Taking him into my hand, my fingers barely met around the shaft.

Fighting the urge to touch my mouth to his manhood, I buried my face in his stomach with his warm penis under my chin and alongside my neck. I stayed that way with my arms around my son's waist and my hands manipulating his muscular buttocks. After a minute or two my hand moved around to cradle the two rubbery eggs in their pouch nestled in a dark forest of hair. Max didn't move but stood above, watching me fondle him.