tagIncest/TabooMom Finally Becomes June

Mom Finally Becomes June

byclive2007©

"Jane is coming for dinner, tonight, Tom," my mother said to me as I walked into the kitchen. "She"ll be here about 7:00."

"What are we having?"

"Stew."

Jane is my aunt. She's also my mother's twin sister. They're identical. That is a problem for me because they are both beautiful. My aunt got a divorce a short time ago. She's living alone. The divorce was difficult and bitter and she often talks about it.

My mom's name is June. She's a nurse at the biggest hospital in the city, and works different shifts. It's unpredictable when she will be home. Jane has an apartment close by. It's on the way to the park where she jogs so, sometimes, when Jane stops by and I'm home it's just the two of us. We've become good friends.

I'll be going to college in the fall, leaving home for the first time. Mom will be alone for the first time, too, since dad died two years ago. Since that sad time we've grown much closer.

Our relationship changed, it seems to me, when I was 16 or 17, when she started treating me more as an adult. She is interested in lots of things and talks to me about them. Our conversation is never boring. And, of course, she has also talked to me about sex, how she said she needed to have this conversation with me, how I am becoming a young man now, and how she understands (not!) what is going on with me, and, firmly, about the need to show respect for girls, and about how to avoid getting one of them pregnant.

I can't take my eyes off her when she is talking, her eyes looking at me and then down and to the side, then moving around, as she follows her ideas, her full lips forming the words, her bright teeth, her clear sincerity I listen although I almost can't hear her.

I'm grateful for her being so open with me. These conversations changed everything. Gradually, my mother seemed less a mother than a friend, one grown-up talking to another. I was thankful for the compliment.

The kitchen opens to the living room There's a circular table at one corner where we eat, some couches and chairs, a fireplace, the television set and stereo, windows looking out at the lake, the mountains in the background.

"Good, " I said. I patted her on the back, a stroke, actually, from her neck down her back, and then went to the couch and turned on the TV.

"She should be here soon," my mother said, brightly, over a clatter of dishes and pans. She wanted her sister and me to be friends. "She likes you, Tom, I know she does, and she needs a friend."

I was thinking of my hand on her back. It was just casual, but I was conscious of the stroke, and the wide band of the bra strap when my hand crossed it on its way down, my thumb tracing the little nubs on her backbone. I'd stopped at her waist. But I knew I'd wanted to go further, to keep going down, more or less by accident. She was wearing a blouse and a short skirt. No panty hose. Her lovely legs bare. The thought of my hands sliding down to her ass, holding her cheeks, pulling her to me. But I banished the thought.

"I know, mom. I like her too," I said staring at the moving pictures on the screen, thinking about the touch of my mother, thinking about her perfume, about how easy we are with each other, about how easy it is to talk to her, and how she looks at me, her face alight with love, interest, attention. About how she touches me, my arm, my back, how we hug and how I feel her breath on my neck, her breasts, feeling their fullness against me, and my hands on the curve of her back, pulling her to me, and how she moves into me, with no resistance, melting into me, pulling me to her, and the kisses, on her cheek and, lately, short kisses on her mouth, on her soft lips, and how they yield and open slightly. And we have been this way for months, the kisses getting longer, gradually getting more intense. She doesn't seem to notice that I get hard when this happens. I know we have thought about it. About what it might be like.

"Tom?"

"Yes?" I look at her. She has full auburn hair almost to her shoulders. She's about 5'7", slender, with an athlete's body, square shoulders, breasts that she is proud of, probably a c or d cup, a slender waist, and the beautiful bottom I can't help noticing. And terrific legs. To my eye, she is beautiful, with clear skin, lively brown eyes full of humor and intelligence that look directly at me when she wants me to understand that she wants me to understand. She has a lovely mouth, not too wide, with full lips and good teeth that I'm lucky enough to have inherited. This sounds too good to be true, I say to myself, but it is. My mother really is this good-looking.

"Would you set the table, please?" she asks me.

"Sure" She was looking at me, her face smiling its radiant smile. I felt such an attraction to her, to her person, and I walked over to her and took her in my arms and kissed her on the cheek and then on the mouth, just a short kiss, but I was getting used to kissing her and it felt very good. She didn't seem to mind, and kissed me back.

While I took out the silverware she poured us each a glass of wine. "Jane feels bad, Tom."

"She always feels bad, she's always singing the blues," I said, and regretted it because I sympathize with Jane. I was setting the table slowly, taking my time, taking sips of wine, talking to mom about work and my new school term coming up, and then stopped and walked back into the kitchen. Mom was at the stove, stirring the stew. I don't know why but I walked over to her and put my hands on her shoulders and kissed her neck.

She craned it to me and said, "Tom, don't do that to your poor mother."

"You're just too nice. I like you," I said to her. "And you look great."

She turned to me and put her arms around my neck. "And you're my fine son in whom I am well pleased." She grinned and I kissed her again, but this time a little longer, her wonderful mouth on mine, open a little, our tongues just touching barely, and she again melted in my arms and her breasts pressed against me.

She pulled her head back, looked at me and smiled, but she didn't pull her body back. I was hard and she felt it. "Tommy!" she said. My hands went down her sides and I could feel the sides of her breasts on my way down. "Tommy!" The wine had gone a little to my head and I moved my hands up to her breasts, cupping them, feeling their fullness. "Tommy, stop that!" she said.

I was surprised at my boldness and passion. I was rock hard, pressing against her. "What are you doing, you naughty boy?" she said but said it in a loud whisper and I heard the tension in her voice and I knew she liked it, liked the touch of me against her, my hands on her breasts. She pushed away from me, her face flushed. "Tommy. I'm your mother." I moved back, embarrassed. I was hard, my cock jutting against my pants and I saw her notice.

"Sorry mom, the wine, I guess."

She looked at me, a frown on her face. "Maybe you should pour me another glass." I moved away from her, grateful to break the spell and re-filled her glass and mine. When I turned around again she was back at the stove, stirring the stew. I brought the wine glass to her and set it on the counter.

"I'm sorry, mom, I don't know what came over me."

"That's alright, Tommy," she said, but she didn't look at me and I was afraid to say anything more. "Jane should be here soon."

"Look mom, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have touched you." I blurted it out. I was embarrassed and felt terrible that I might have offended her.

But she turned to me and said, "Don't worry, honey." She looked down, then said "You know, sometimes I do have to remember who you are. You are a very good looking young man and I admit sometimes I look at you like a woman would look at a handsome man and maybe I led you on."

I blushed. "I look at you the same way. The wine let me act on it." We looked at each other, a little startled at the candidness of what we had just said, that we had both been thinking about this for a while, not just tonight. Something had been acknowledged that wouldn't have been ordinarily, and now it was out in the open. "I'm glad you're not mad."

"No, honey, I'm not mad." But she still looked concerned, thoughtful, as if she were considering something serious she hadn't thought of before.

She turned back to the stove and pretended to stir the stew and then started on a salad. Her back was to me and her shoulders were a little slumped, turned inward, like her thoughts, and I felt another wave of remorse coupled with another wave of desire. I stepped over to her and put my hands on her shoulders. "I'm so sorry, mom." But she turned to me and put her arms around me and pulled me to her.

"That's alright honey," she said, and then I was kissing her again. But it was different, as though we both knew a line had been crossed and something had changed. I kissed her again, my mouth open, tongue probing a little, like a lover. And she didn't pull away. I moved my hands to her breasts again and this time she just moaned and leaned into me. Our kiss went on, my tongue probing, her tongue meeting mine. Her breasts were so soft and I was cupping and squeezing them. She pushed her front against me and I pushed back, my hard cock now uncomfortably at an angle. I reached down to push it up and the back of my hand was against her front, against her pussy, and I turned it and rubbed her mound.

"Oh, Tommy," she said. "We can't." But her breath was coming short and hard, and she wasn't pulling away. "Tommy, Tommy," she was saying. I pulled her blouse free of her skirt and felt the coolness of her back, the smoothness of her skin, moving up to her bra and unhooking it. I will never forget the release of her breasts, their heaviness against me when freed and for the first time touched them and felt her nipples hard and pointed.

We were kissing again and I heard her moans as I cupped and kneaded them. My cock was as hard as it's ever been. "I want you to see it," I said, and I unzipped my pants and pulled it out. I had measured before. It was seven inches of thick, hot, hard muscle straining toward her. I grabbed her hand and pushed it down. She gasped at first touch and then grabbed it and held it.

My hands were on her breasts, feeling their marvelous soft denseness, our mouths exploring each other, my other hand moving down to her pussy, rubbing it. "Oh Tommy," she said to me. "Hurry, please hurry. Right here." She sank down to the floor, the kitchen vinyl floor, and I sank down with her. Like something folding down. We were on the floor. I opened my belt and pushed my pants and underwear down. I moved up, over her, on my knees, my cock standing up, looking down at her, then pushed her skirt up and pulled her panties down and off. She raised her hips to help me.

I opened her blouse up past her breasts, leaving them free, and looked at her, "Hurry, Tommy, don't talk. Just hurry. I don't want to think," she said. And I looked down at her, at her full breasts with their dark nipples, erect and standing, and down to her pussy with its thick brown soft hair, a little crinkly, and I kissed her, her mouth now completely open to me, her tongue probing. "Tommy, Tommy, hurry, please!" she said.

I had my cock in my hand, rubbing it on her pussy, up and down on her slit, probing a little. . She opened her legs wider. "Yes, yes, hurry." She reached down and grabbed my cock and put the head in her opening and I pushed in and felt myself engulfed in her warmth and heat. And we both groaned. "Oh, yes, Tommy honey, fuck me, baby" she said. She had her arms around my neck, pulling me to her to kiss her, my cock completely inside her, and just beginning to stroke her. "Faster honey, hurry. Fuck me harder, baby".

I started pumping, slow and then a little faster. "Yes, yes, that's it, honey. You feel so good." I started to fuck her faster, harder, pushing my cock all the way in on each stroke, pushing hard and fast. "That's it, baby." Breathing hard, "That's how." Her hands were rubbing my back, her legs around me. "Mmmm, You're so good." Fucking her faster. "Tommy, baby!"

Just then the door bell rang. "Shit!" she said. I was shocked. I had never heard her say that word. "It's Jane! Jesus! Shit!" she said. "Stop! We have to stop!"

I pulled out of her and stood up. She got up too, put her breasts back in the bra and reached around to clip it, then got her panties and put them on, pulling them up, me staring at her, wordless, in shock over what had almost happened, my cock sticking out, still hard and wet from her. She smoothed her skirt and blouse, preoccupied, then looked at me and down at my cock. "Tommy, fix yourself. Jane is here. We have to open the door. Act normal," she said, as if I wouldn't. "Hurry! Go in the bathroom and fix yourself, Tommy." She looked at me. "Hurry baby." She reached down and squeezed my cock. "Later. How do I look? Am I smeared?"

"You're fine," I said. She smiled at me as I left for the bathroom and she turned to go to the door.

I went into the bathroom and thought of illegal fish kills and homeless people to get the my goddamn cock down. "Hi all," I heard Jane say. "What a wonderful evening!" I checked my face, still all blotchy, and wiped mom's lipstick off my mouth. Smoothed my hair. Jesus! I couldn't believe what had just happened! I stood by the toilet peeing, thinking, trying to calm down. Time to go out.

I went into the kitchen. Mom and Jane were talking. "Hi, Tom," Jane greeted me, her face all smiles.

"Hi, Jane. Nice to see you," I said.

Jane was in a black sweater and short black skirt, almost like mom. She had the same wonderful figure, of course. Mom looked at me. Her earlier smile had been modified by anxiety and strain. I wondered what was on her mind.

Dinner was uneventful. Jane told us about her adjustment problems. Mom and I listened, exchanging glances every now and then. I couldn't read her face, but Jane didn't seem to notice anything.

The stew was wonderful. We had some more wine after dinner, at the table, talking and laughing some more. Mom seemed to relax gradually and was almost her usual self when Jane announced she was tired and needed to go home and get to bed early. It was only about 8:30.

"Good idea," mom said. "I'm tired too." She looked at me. "Tommy, why don't you walk Jane home?"

"Sure," I said. We carried our dishes into the kitchen and put them in the sink, running some water over them.

"I don't know why I'm so tired," mom said. "I think I'll leave these for tomorrow."

"Can I help?" Jane asked.

"No, no," mom said. She put the leftover stew in the refrigerator while Jane and I walked to the door.

"Goodnight June," Jane called. "Thanks for the wonderful dinner. See you soon."

I opened the door for Jane and she stepped out. I looked over at mom and she was looking back at me, the mixture of anxiety and strain back on her face. "See you soon," I said and I was out the door.

Jane and I fell into an easy pace, matching each other's steps. The evening was just right, still in the mid-60's, quiet and with the warm air still fragrant with spring in the fading light. I looked over at Jane, admiring how lovely she looked and noticing her breasts moving a little as she walked. I put my arm around her waist and she moved closer to me so we were almost touching. And then she put her arm around my waist, and we were touching, I could feel the gentle touch of her breast against my side and her hip against mine.

"Your mom seemed a little quiet tonight," she said. "Everything OK?"

"Sure," I said.

"I think she's just tired. She's been working a lot lately. She loves you so much," she said. "I don't think she is looking forward to you leaving."

"I'm not either," I said.

Jane looked up at me. "Spend as much time with her as you can, Tom. I hope you can do that."

"Yes, I will," I said.

"You're a great kid, Tommy," Jane said, and smiled up at me, pulling me a little closer to her and pressing her breast against my side. I smiled back at her and almost bent to kiss her. I was still riled up. We walked along in silence, listening to each other and the evening, until we reached her door. She took her keys from her pocket and opened her door. She turned to me. "Would you like to come in?" she asked.

"I should be going home," I said.

"OK, " she said. Then she moved forward and put her hand on the back of my neck and kissed me, her mouth open a little, feeling her breath and her fingers on my neck, smelling her perfume.

She leaned against me. "Mmmm Tommy," she said, as she turned toward the door. "That was nice." She smiled at me. "Well, goodnight. By the way, can you help me with some shelving I just got? In the next few days?"

"Sure," I said. "Let me know when."

"OK," she said. "Goodnight, Tom." And the door closed.

Tommy had been replaced by Tom, I thought, as I was walking back home, my cock semi-hard from the kiss. And now. What now. I started to walk faster, hurrying toward my mom, toward completing what we had started. The thought of her face full of desire, her skin, my belly against hers, her soft breasts and my hard cock in her warm pussy. My god!

When I got home the house was dark. I went up to my room without turning anything on, took off my clothes and walked naked into the bathroom. I turned on the shower, waiting for the hot water, and looked at myself in the mirror. Six feet. About 175. A good athletic body, I thought, the result of a couple of years of training in the weight room and just the rigors of high school football and track. I was in good shape.

I looked down at my cock, my guy so eager all the time. I was about 3 inches soft and 7 hard. Cut and nicely shaped. Medium size balls, now filled and heavy with cum as I held them in my hand, the package surrounded by thick but soft brown hair.

I stepped into the shower and gave myself a good scrubbing, then dried off and put on just a little lotion here and there. Some deodorant. Kidding myself about making myself smell nice but I wanted to be clean, and I was nervous. Then, lights off, padding down the hall to her room, naked, my cock about 1/3 hard swaying in front of me as I walked.

I didn't knock. I just walked in and went over to her bed, my cock getting harder with each step. Mom was on her side, away from me. I pulled back the sheet and slid in beside her. Her pale blue nightie was sheer and I could see there was no bra strap but she was wearing panties, the same shade of light blue. I just reached out to her shoulder and turned her toward me.

Her eyes opened. "Tommy! What are you doing?" I kissed her and moved my hand to her breast, its warm, fullness in my hand and feeling her nipple get hard. I tweaked it between my thumb and forefinger. My cock was now full and hard, and pressing against her leg. She shook her head away from my mouth. "Tommy! Stop!" she said. "I've been thinking. We can't do this! It's wrong!"

"Oh yes we can," I said. I felt like a train and nothing was going to stop me. I kissed her again, squeezing her breast, making her moan.

"Tommy! Please stop!" she said, and I could hear her anxiety. I moved my hand up under her nightie and under her panties to her pussy, her legs tight together, my fingers rubbing her full bush, the same soft brown hair I had, my finger slipping between her lips. "Oh Tommy! Please honey! Don't!"

But I thought I heard a slight weakening of her resistance. "Mom, you know we want it" I was breathing hard but still calm and focused. "Mom, it is time." I was whispering, talking fast. "We came so close earlier. It's all I can think of. I have to have you." "

Oh, Tommy," she said. "Tommy!" I kissed her again. And she relaxed and kissed me back. I moved my hand away from her pussy back to her breast, pulling her nightie up, and cupped her other breast, squeezing and rubbing her nipple. She was breathing so much faster! "Oh Tommy, Oh Tommy!" she said. I kissed her again, this time pushing my tongue in her mouth, and she responded, kissing me back, a full lovers' kiss.

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byclive2007© 19 comments/ 248612 views/ 41 favorites

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