tagIncest/TabooLearning Through Porn Ch. 01

Learning Through Porn Ch. 01

bycolumfa©

Angela Johnson placed the laundry basket on her hip and started up the stairs from the basement. It had been a long day already, and she was pleased that this final chore was nearly finished. It only remained to deliver the piles of folded clothes to her son Max' room, and then take the rest to the master bedroom.

As she passed the open door of her husband Gus' study, she could see him peering at a spreadsheet on his desktop. She smiled to herself exasperatedly. She had told him it was probably time for him to get reading glasses. Many of his friends had already done so, being in their early forties, but he was so proud of his appearance that he hated to give in.

Still, she knew that he had reason to be somewhat vain. She loved the way his brown hair framed his long thin face, and his intense eyes never failed to give her shivers deep down, where it counted. She went on by, knowing not to disturb him when he was at his most concentrated. He was never short with her, but she knew she wouldn't get anything out of him more than grunts.

Max was much the same as his father, she mused as she started to climb the stairs to the second floor. Intense, handsome, the eighteen-year-old had an almost preternatural ability to concentrate on something that fascinated him. The young mother thought lovingly of her only offspring. He had turned into a really wonderful human being. Not to say that he hadn't had his rough patches; who doesn't, in those difficult teenaged years? But now he had become a genuine, polite, thoughtful person. It was true that he seemed to have some difficulty with getting dates for some reason, but she felt sure he would get over that in time.

Angela paused on the landing to push her hair back behind an ear. She loved the way her hair looked, and took great care of it. Golden blonde (and naturally so, despite what some envious soccer moms had implied; she had the other hair to prove it), she generally wore it in a neat ponytail. But now, her bangs needed a trim. She reminded herself to make an appointment in the morning.

Preoccupied with these thoughts, she walked down the second floor hallway to Max' room. The door was closed, and as was the custom in the Johnson household, she politely knocked. Not hearing an answer, she knocked again, a little louder, and then turned the doorknob.

The sight that met her eyes burned like a sunflash onto the backs of her eyes. In fact, in later years, she was astonished at how readily she was able to recall even the slightest details of the scene. The room was dark except for the light that emanated from the computer monitor. Max was sitting in front of the screen with headphones on, from which she could hear a driving beat. His chair hid most of him from her, but his broad shoulders, bare, stuck above the top of the chair. His dirty blonde head was looking intently at the screen, in a strange parody of his father's position one floor down. His right hand was in his lap and seemed to be moving back and forth.

And then the picture on the screen forced its way into her consciousness: a pixie like redheaded girl was kneeling on her hands and knees, her behind towards the camera, her face looking back towards the photographer with a mischievous smile playing on her lips. She was only wearing the briefest of panties, merely a string down the valley between her buttocks. And in fact, as could be expected, there was no pretense of covering her various charms. Her anus winked out a deeper pink than the pale skin of the rest of her bottom, and the beginning of her labia could be seen peeking around the little pouch of the g-string. She had her hand next to those pouting lips, one finger slipping underneath the fabric of the panties to tease around her sex.

With a gasp, Angela Johnson dropped the laundry basket. In the same instant, Max, sensing the change in the light guiltily grabbed his boxers and pulled them up his legs, vainly attempting to stuff his erection back into concealment. He looked, terribly embarrassed, over his shoulder, and seeing his mother's horrified expression, whipped around and closed the internet browser. He wanted to shrink into a tiny ball.

"Mo-ooo-ommm," he whined, sounding miserably like an immature brat. He heard her grab the basket and slam the door behind her. 'Oh, shit,' the teenager thought, 'why in God's name did that have to happen to me?' His erection had subsided enough, so that he was able to get his boxers the rest of the way up. He got up and lay in his bed, feeling more ashamed than the time he accidentally knocked his Dad's antique pipe collection off of the mantelpiece.

Outside, her heart pounding, his mother leaned against the wall, one hand pressed against her mouth. She knew that nothing could prepare you for the moment you discovered for sure that your child was not only grown, but in fact a member of the sexual human race. In fact, she had known that he had been masturbating for years, because Gus had told her.

In fact, the Johnson household was open about a lot of things. Max had been encouraged to approach either parent with any questions he had about sex or about girls, and he had taken advantage of that trust to discuss things with his mother, his father, or both, that many parents never had the good fortune to be able to clear up with their children. He had asked Gus about the unhappy tendency of the male sex organ to erect itself at inappropriate times. He had asked Angela about breasts when he was eleven years old and whether they hurt.

That being said, the Johnsons took their privacy very seriously, and parents and son had not seen each other in the nude for years. Angela still recalled with a pang the moment that Max had said with intense dignity as a nine year old that he could bathe himself perfectly well, thank you very much. And it had been years before that that she had had to take him to the restroom for the last time. Sure, there were times at the swimming pool, or the beach, where more than the usual amount of skin was seen, but it had never been overlaid with a sense of sexuality.

And now, Angela Johnson was astonished to realize, the sight of those manly shoulders, broad from his competitive swimming, even in the peculiar light of the computer monitor, had caused a familiar rush of warmth to her center. With an impatient shake of her golden hair, she forced her thoughts away from that disturbing reaction, and taking ahold of herself, decided to start separating the laundry in her room.

*****

"Gus, you'll never guess what I saw this evening."

Angela and her husband were getting ready for bed that night. He was in his pajama bottoms, washing his face, while she sat on the toilet clipping her toenails. She had on a blue cotton cami and a matching pair of blue boy shorts. Her hair was falling in front of her face as she bent forward over her left foot.

Gus felt a surge of happiness at the fact of this lovely woman in the bathroom with him. It never failed to astonish him that she had chosen to spend her life with him. He considered himself to be, on the whole, an average guy. True, he had done well with his career in engineering, and they had a comfortable lifestyle because of it. And yet, when he looked at himself in the mirror, what was there to even remark on? He knew for sure that there had been men far more attractive than he who had been courting Angela at the same time. And yet she had picked him.

Even now, twenty years after their first date, she was a beautiful woman. Leaning over her foot, he could see the slim curvature of her hips, and that achingly sexy space between her shorts and her cami where her waist peeked out. She had lost nothing in that time, despite carrying a baby (and losing another pregnancy).

"Mmm?"

Angela looked up at him in the mirror.

"I accidentally walked in on our son, jerking off," she said. He realized that, despite the joky tone of voice, she was upset about something. He raised his eyebrows at her.

"What did you do?"

"Oh, honey, I don't know," she replied, looking back at her foot, but with the toenail clipper unremembered in her hand. "I think I kind of panicked, really."

"Angela, you didn't yell at him?"

"No, no, no," she shook her head. "No, I just kind of hightailed it out of there."

"Have you apologized to him?"

Angela looked up at her husband, immediately understanding what she had failed to comprehend up until now. Her son, her wonderful son. What would he be thinking? How would he take her silent withdrawal?

"Uh, no, not really," she murmured, tears prickling in her eyes.

"Oh, honey," Gus said, and she could hear the disappointment in his deep voice. "You've got to go to him and make this right. You can't let him be scarred by this."

Thoughts whirled in her head. She had been so preoccupied with her own reactions that she had overlooked how cowardly she had been. She was the adult. She was the one who had to be mature and make things right.

"You're right, of course," she said. "I'll go to him right now." She stood up, and went to kiss her thoughtful husband, who affectionately hugged her. She loved the strong feel of his arms around her, and took courage from his unquestioning support. With a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and walked out of the bathroom.

*****

Max had been lying in bed, trying to read. For the last hour, he had been running over the awful scene in his mind, desperately attempting to guess what his mother's expression had meant. Was she angry? That would be all right, really. Much better than disgusted, which was what he really thought she was. He sighed in frustration, realizing he had just read the same paragraph four times over and still had no idea what it said. He had just put the book down when he heard the soft knock at the door.

"Max?" It was his mother's soft voice outside. Max looked around to make sure there was nothing embarrassing lying about.

"Uh, yeah, Mom?"

"Can I come in?"

His heart pounding, he made sure the covers were over his lower body, and then answered in the affirmative.

The door opened and his mother came and stood inside the frame, the light from the hallway outlining her form. His heart, which had been racing, seemed to stop short in an instant when he realized she was wearing only underwear. So all right, he knew, she was wearing more than when they were at the beach, but still, never had he seen her in her night clothes without a robe or a gown over them.

He had been aware, of course, that his mother was attractive. In fact, many of his friends had commented on it.

"She's stone-cold, dude," Ben Kotite had said after soccer practice when they were being picked up. Max had punched him hard in the arm.

"That's my Mom, man. Not cool."

"Yeah, whatever, Max. Just saying, y'know?"

And he had known. It wasn't like he used her in his jerk-off fantasies. No, instead, it was like she was the standard against which he measured other girls. And now, with the light behind her, he realized that in fact she was hotter than any girl he knew in high school. Which was crazy, because how could she be when she was like twice their age?

Still, he couldn't help but stare at her slim form, the sweet curve of her hips, her slender legs. And with greater shock, he realized that he was getting a hard-on looking at her.

'Oh, crap,' he thought, 'just what I need. I don't need her to get further disgusted by me.' He couldn't make out her expression because of the backlighting, so he looked away, desperately trying to think of anything else.

Angela, in her turn, looked at her son, sitting up against the headboard, the covers around his waist. His trim torso was bare again, his shoulders so broad, the muscles so proudly gained. The light from the hallway fell across him, and the blond hairs around his navel that pointed downward glinted. Her eyes were drawn down, inexorably towards his groin, but that area lay in shadows. She pulled herself together and looked up at him just as he glanced away in obvious embarrassment. Her heart tore at the sight of his uncertainty.

"Max, honey," she ventured softly. "We need to talk."

She didn't sound angry or disgusted. But Max still felt unsure so he just nodded.

"About what happened earlier," she went on, uncertain in her own right.

"I- I'm sorry, Mom," her son whispered. And with that, her paralysis was broken and she rushed over to the bed to sit down next to him.

"Oh, Max," she said sorrowfully, "you've got nothing to feel bad about. It's me who should be sorry, not you."

Max looked up at that. Now in the light from the hall, he could see her expression, the regret in her eyes. Those gorgeous green eyes that he had never really noticed before, their startling almond shape. With her hair in her usual ponytail, he could see the vulnerable hollow between her collarbone and her neck. Nothing had ever seemed as sexy to him as that space.

"So, you're not like mad at me or something?"

"Honey, no," she insisted, laying her hand on his leg. The warmth of him jolted her through the thin linens. His thigh felt so strong, so powerful beneath her fingertips. "What you were doing, what you were choosing to do in the privacy of your own room is your business and yours alone."

"But I thought from the way you reacted that maybe you were..."

"What, Max?" As she urged him to go on, she leaned in slightly, and he found himself looking at the neckline of her cami, which had fallen away from her chest. The shadows of the top of her breasts and the valley between was suddenly fascinating. In fact, the entire shape of her breasts against the soft cotton was entrancing. The two soft mounds were enticingly encased by her top, and every curve was neatly delineated.

"Disgusted with me," he whispered, dragging his eyes away from her chest.

"Oh, sweetie," she sighed, rubbing his leg unconsciously with her hand. "I thought you knew that we have no problem with you, uh, touching yourself. Everybody does it, didn't you know?" There was a pause, during which Angela found herself suddenly aware how high up his leg her hand had ventured. She looked at it in wonder as if to ask how she could have found herself with her hand mere inches away from her son's groin. The proximity caused yet another surge of warmth in her own sex, akin to the one she had experienced earlier that night. Was he wearing anything under those covers?

She forced herself to pull back, but it seemed like her hand was unwilling even as it slid back down Max' leg. In fact, she was sliding it back up again, masquerading as a gentle soothing caress. Was she hoping to discover that he was nude beneath the sheet? The thought made her feel warm all over, and to her disgust, she felt the soft cotton cami rasping across what were unmistakably erect nipples. She pulled back again, trying to regain control over herself.

Max had felt her hand on his leg distantly as he struggled to formulate the question that was burning in his mind. Finally, he jerked his head up to look at her again. She seemed as confused as he did, which was a comfort. His eyes fell once again to her breasts, but this time the smooth contours were interrupted by the outlines of her hard nipples, unconcealed by the thin cotton. The unexpected sight sent confusion through his mind, and his cock twitched beneath the sheets. He looked up once again to find his mother looking directly into his eyes.

"No, Mom," he screwed up his courage to say, "I wasn't worried that you might find my, uh, activity disgusting. I know everybody jerks off." He was sorry he had used the coarser expression, because her eyes widened. "No, instead I thought that you might find what I was looking at disgusting."

Angela found herself transfixed by her son's intense gaze. It was so similar to his father's look when he was making love to her, that directness, the deep soulful look that stole her heart clear away. She shivered, suddenly aware of how little she was wearing; how little Max was wearing. How could she have come in here dressed like this to talk about this subject? And at the same time, she found herself excited at the nearness, the intimacy she had suddenly discovered with her son. She shifted on the bed, an itch between her legs demanding to be satisfied.

"Well, I'll admit, Max, that it was a shock to see that so out of the blue. I don't know that I understand why you would choose to look at something so..." She trailed off, at a loss for a word that would describe the picture without seeming condemning.

"Awww, Mom," Max said. "You know, it's just a thing to look at."

"Does that sort of picture, uh, turn you on?" Max couldn't believe she had just asked that question. How can you go about having a conversation with your mother about what makes you hot? He felt hot all over.

"Y-yeah, I guess so," he stammered. His mother looked at him inscrutably.

"Show it to me again," she finally said. He stared at her. "So I can understand," she went on impatiently.

"O-okay," he said, pulling the covers down so he could get out of the bed.

Angela was in turmoil. She had no idea where she was going with this. It had surprised even her when she had come out with the suggestion. Her thoughts flashed to Gus in the other room, but she pushed that aside. This wasn't inappropriate. She was trying to work through this problem she shared with her son. Still, as Max pulled down the covers, she found herself looking down at his lap to see if he was excited. But there was no evidence of arousal in his boxers. She stood up with him.

For a second, there was that awkward dance where two people both try to get out of the way in the same direction as each other. The tall teenaged boy and the pretty young mother, both scantily clad, first moved left, and then right before they both giggled. The tension seemed to ease, and Max took his mother by the shoulders and moved her to the left so that he could slip past her to the computer. Angela loved the feel of his strong hands on her bare skin, and the composure with which he moved her again kindled that warm feeling within her.

Max settled himself in front of the computer, astonished at what he was about to share with his Mom, but at the same time kind of excited that she was going to see how grown-up he was. He opened the browser and his fingers typed out the website automatically. In fact, it was one of his favorites because he could see thumbnails of gorgeous girls in (and out of) skimpy bathing suits for free. Sure, you could pay to get inside and see what would surely be much more outrageous pictures, but who needed that when so much was available without paying?

Angela leaned over the back of the chair, her hands on her son's shoulders. She couldn't help but gasp slightly as the website opened on the monitor in front of her. The sexy little intake of breath was right next to Max's ear, and he thrilled at the sound. He moved the mouse down to a picture of the redhead he had been jerking off to before.

"I think this was the one I was looking at when you... uh, came in before," he said. Angela nodded, then realized that her movement would not be seen by her son.

"Th- that's right," she murmured. She was a little lost in the moment, her hands on her son's surprisingly muscular frame. She unconsciously rubbed those shoulders. How had her little boy grown so much? Her eyes were locked on the screen as Max clicked on the thumbnail. Another set of thumbs opened up, showing four sample sets of pictures featuring the slim girl in different suits. Her name, Angela noted, was Misti.

"Nice name," she giggled, nervously.

"Yeah, Mom," Max replied, his voice amused as well. "I think they all use fake names."

"Well, I know I would," his mother said. A sudden image arose in Max's mind: his mother in a ludicrously tiny bikini, smiling at him like all of the girls on the website. His cock twitched in his boxers and steadily began to harden. He shifted in the chair, suddenly uncomfortable. He glanced surreptitiously up at his mother's face, but she was looking at the monitor, not at him.

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bycolumfa© 14 comments/ 418053 views/ 81 favorites

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