My Beautiful Son

Just call me Joan. I think it's best to keep my full name secret. Once you have read my story and found out how naughty I've been you will probably understand why.

I'm a forty year old woman with a nice, full figure and I have one son, called Adam, who lived with his father after we divorced eight years ago. He's twenty now with a good job and a place of his own. I've been to stay with him several times.

This new arrangement couldn't have come sooner. The previous custodial arrangement meant that I only had limited access to my son. One day a week was about the best I was going to get. It was nowhere near enough. My son is the most important thing in the world to me and I just couldn't bear the long separations from him. Despite my unhappiness about the situation there wasn't a lot that I could do. I didn't have the money or the stomach to fight another bitter legal battle. Besides, it wouldn't be fair on our son. His well-being always came first. So instead, I channelled my frustrations into making the few days we had together as enjoyable as possible. In the beginning, when he was just a skinny, little blue-eyed school boy, we went to informative places like zoos and museums. I'm glad to say my efforts to provide entertainment paid off very well. He was very curious about everything he saw.

"Mum, why are the chimpanzees picking at each other?" He asked me once, turning his innocent face up at mine.

"I'm not sure sweetheart. I think it's to do with fleas."

"Fleas?" He persisited.

"Yes, they pick fleas off of each other."

"Why do they do that mum?

"Er...let's go ask the warden sweetheart."

For a while I called him Quizzy. There was no limit to the number of things he could ask in one day. Back then he wanted to know it all. I prided myself on being able to cater for his needs somewhat. It wasn't for me to make it all happen, but seeing the happiness and gratitude in his eyes made it all worthwhile. It was important for me to give him something to remember his childhood by other than divorce. He used to complain that getting his father to play games with him was like getting blood from a stone. There wasn't going to be same negligence from me.

Those scattered days with Adam were unspeakably precious. When I had to drive him home at the end of every visit my heart nearly broke. I knew he was sad too. He'd get out the car, give me a soft kiss on the cheek, solemnly say goodbye, then saunter up the driveway and disappear inside. Our parting was always followed the same sad ritual, and I always cried bitterly. By the time he was fifteen he had changed noticeably. He had gotten harder and tougher. Curiosity wast ousted by a need for thrills and rough-and-tumble stuff. He was still as kind to me as he'd ever been. Although, he did relieve me of my duties as day-planner and appoint himself instead. My ideas of fun were now 'antiquated' according to my son. So we waved goodbye to the Chimps and heralded a new dawn of football, skateboarding and cart-racing. He had entered upon the thrill-seeking phase of his life. For a worrisome mother such as myself it could be hard on the nerves.

"Sweetheart," I ventured to ask him after he'd crashed his go-cart into a wall of tyres at the local race-track. "Is it really necessary to take so many risks?"

"Mum," He replied cockilly. "The risks are what makes it."

I accompanied him to countless sporting venues over the next couple of years. Being such a quiet and unadventurous person I felt quite out-of-place, but as I wanted to be supportive there was no question of me not being there. Anyway, I also knew that it was the only real way to be with my son. I mean, he wouldn't want to know me very long if all we did was bake cakes together would he?

I don't know much about sports, but I do know that Adam was very good at them. At least, the admiration of his peers would lead me to think so. He had certainly gotten popular lately. A far cry from a few years back when he was considered to be a loner at school. Many times I'd be driving him and a couple of his friends home hearing nothing but compliments about his skateboarding prowess all the way. In truth, I was impressed too. Not so much about the sporting aspect as in the way he was growing up. Once upon a time he was skinny and awkward. Now, thanks to his new and robust lifestyle, he was beginning to fill-out. A dalliance in karate and basketball had made him assured on his feet too. There was a catlike confidence about the way he moved.

I still tried hard to encourage intellectual pursuits in my son. It was important to me that he grew up to have a gentle side. I upbraided him when he swore, corrected his bad english, and encouraged him to read more. Manners have always been important to me. Perhaps that's why I became a librarian and put myself in a peaceful, polite envrionment with high-minded works of literature all around me. On his sixteenth birthday I gave him two distinctly different presents. One, a bike, the other, a copy of Little Women. Predictably enough he was delighted about the first and perplexed by the second.

"What's this junk?" He said, holding it at arms length

"Sweetheart, that 'junk' is actually a very great book. It's also happens to be my favourite. My grandfather read it to me when I was growing up and I'd like for you to read it too."

"But mum, it's about women."

"What's wrong with that? Women can be interesting too you know."

"Is there any sex in it?"

"Adam! Don't be so rude. It's not that kind of book. Now are you going to read it or not."

"I'll give it a go. Seeing as you bought it for me."

"That's all I ask sweetheart. It's good to read. It improves the mind. You don't want to be end up a dunce do you? I added rather snobbishly.

To his credit he read it through enthusiastically and was suprised at how much he enjoyed it. Unfortunately it was a one-off. I never saw him read anything again, except for car manuals and sporting magazines of course. Still, I flattered myself from that day on that any culture he possessed was down to my persistence.

Anyway, books or no books, these new times together, although quite different, were still very important to both of us. Parting had not gotten any easier. There was the same deep pain whenever the time to say goodbye arrived. What touched me the most was that, in spite of his tough new persona, Adam still gave me a gentle kiss on the cheek just before getting out of the car. I still cried the same bitter tears too.

For several more years I had my strict quota of days rationed out. I endured them as best I could, but worried that I was actually getting quite depressed by it all. But when things were looking pretty dark everything changed. One lovely spring day my son turned eighteen. At last he had the power to rule his own life. The very first thing he did was go and tell his father that he was leaving. Before I knew it he had rented a flat. I was while I was at home in the garden that he wrang. Our conversation was quick and excited. It went like this:

"Hey mum, I've got great news and I wan't you to be the first to know. You know that place I telling you about? Well, it's mine! Everything was finalised this morning. I'm moving in at the weekend. Now you'll be able to come and see whenever you want."

"Sweetheart that's wonderful! Are you alright to manage everything? Do you want me to help with the moving?"

The realisation hadn't sunk in yet. I was listening to Adam in a daze.

"You just take it easy mum." He continued. "I can sort this out by myself. Just make sure you're down here soon. I want to know what you think of it."

"I don't know what to say..."

"You don't have to say anything. Be there soon, that's all I ask. Love you mum. Bye.

It wasn't until several minutes after putting the phone down that I was able to grasp what had just transpired. I seemed too good to be true. I sat down and ran my mind over the conversation Adam and I had just had. Every word was weighed. Finally, the shock subsided and I burst into tears. They were happy tears. Tears of joy after a dark cloud has been lifted. That night I barely slept.

When I visited Adam at his new flat soon after, he greeted me with a great big hug. It was the first time he'd done that in a long time. I was quite taken aback. I really appreciated the show of affection though. It felt good to be wrapped in those big strong arms of his.

"Now we're both free." He said, smiling broadly. I silently nodded in agreement.

Once I was inside he gave me a guided tour. It was a lot bigger than I thought it would be. The walls were pristine white, giving the place a fresh, hygenic air. Besides the obvious necessities such as a kitchen, bedroom, and toilet, there were two other rooms. One was empty, due to be made-up so that I could stay over in the future, whilst the other was a large shower-room with rose patterned tiles. I felt that my son had done very well for himself. Just before I left we each drank a glass of specially bought champagne to mark the occasion.

Naturally enough I was delighted by the new arrangement. All I'd ever wanted was for my son and I to be able to see each other on our own terms. It stands to reason that I became a regular guest of my son. He even had a duplicate key cut for me so that I could go on in when he wasn't there. I thought that was very considerate of him. Usually I would stay over for one weekend a month. That doesn't sound like much, but I also called round often to say hello and see how he was doing. I didn't want to push it too far and make him sick of the sight of me.

Spending more time in Adam's company made me a happier person. He was a warm and witty companion. I laughed so much when he was around. I was stuck by how level-headed he had become too. He had given up the skateboard lark and started going to night-school. At that time he was making a good living as a mechanic but he wanted to move into complex engineering, like bridge-building and such like.

I was so proud of the man my son had become. When he was fixing something, or flattening someone on a football pitch, or helping me with my shopping as though the bags were full of nothing but air, I would stop and look admiring upon him. What a man he had become! he was tall, strong, good-looking, and very much the gentleman that I had always wanted him to be. He had so much going for him. When I thought about all his qualities I was left in no doubt that he would be snapped-up by some young lady in no time.

Actually, I suppose he was already in a relationship of sorts. Her name was Angela and she was a pretty ballet dancer. Unfortunately theirs was a fiery romance. There were many arguments, sometimes over the silliest things. It didn't help that their jobs kept them apart a lot. Somehow, they kept going, albeit in a very uncommitted fashion. It was far from unusual for the two of them to split up for two months then get back together. For this reason Adam was usually alone when I visited him. He knew that I found his friends a little rowdy and boisterous, so he would often tell me when would be the best time for me to come round. The usual routine was for me to get there early and order a take-away while I waited for him to get back from the garage where he worked. After eating together we'd watch T.V or talk about what was going in our lives - him about his ambitions, me about my failed dates. One evening he gave me a wonderful treat and took me to see Miss Saigon. I was so touched I almost cried. Even more so because I knew he didn't find theatre a lot of fun. When we weren't doing any of these things I would be mothering him. He told me off for doing so but I think he appreciated it really. I would make him dinner, wash and iron his work clothes, and give the place a dust. One evening he practically had to order me to stop.

"Mum, won't you just sit down and relax. I'm a grown man for God's sake. I didn't invite you over here to be a cleaning-lady." He said firmly.

"Okay sweetheart, I'm almost done."

"No, not almost. You ARE done. Now sit down and take it easy."

"But-"

"SIT!" He barked, loud enough for the neighbours to hear.

Meekly I sat down.

"Now, don't move a muscle." He'd instruct me. "I'm going to make a cup of tea."

That kind of consideration towards me was typical of Adam. If I left his flat late and had to drive home in the dark he would phone me later to check that I'd gotten back safely. How many sons are that thoughful I wonder? He always sent me a card and present on my birthday too - something his father never did during our entire marriage. In short, my son was a great guy. I loved him dearly.

That was my life with my son. After years of difficult separations things were looking up. We were the best of friends. Then something took place which changed the way we saw each other for ever. Adam had been living in his flat for two years when the fateful day came.

It was a sultry Friday afternoon in August and it began no differently from any of the other weekend visits that I had made to my son. First, after finishing work I went home to wash and change. On this occasion I decided to wear a green jersey with a pink blouse underneath, and a long black skirt over my tights. Even on my time off I don't like to dress too casually. Next I packed a few belongings to see me through the weekend. Lastly, as I live alone, I made sure that my neighbour, Mrs Lawson, would feed my cat Slinky and keep a watchful eye on the place while I was gone. With everything sorted out I got into my car and drove the familiar twelve miles through quiet town streets to my son's flat.

Adam wasn't there when I arrived. I assumed he was working overtime. He probably wouldn't be back for at least an hour so I decided to make my self useful in the meantime and cook us both a meal. He was sure to be very hungry when he got back. When I opened his fridge to see what food he had I found nothing. Thankfully there was a supermarket just up the road. Within twenty minutes I was back preparing a salad. It was whilst I was washing the lettuce that my son returned looking very messy indeed.

"Hi Mum!" He called, walking straight through the door.

"Sweetheart! You made me jump" I said, turning to greet him. "Why - look at the state of you? what on earth have you been doing?"

"Just another day at the garage. I really should have some overalls."

"I'll buy you some for your birthday."

"Cooking again I see."

"Yes, a nice and healthy salad."

"Salad? Hmmm. I guess I can manage that." He said, a little underwhelmed.

"Just be grateful. I should really be relaxing you know." I joked back at him.

"How could I not be grateful to have a mum like you?" He countered charmingly.

"Ah, you're just trying to get extra helpings." "Extra helpings of salad? No chance."

"Well, it'll be ready in about five minutes. Go and get changed. You can't eat looking like that."

He nodded his assent then walked off down the hall. I've seen him look so filthy. I vowed to myself that I would never buy him any white clothes again. He'd only wear them to work and ruin them. Still, there was something cute about him when he was all dirty. I suppose it was like looking at a big kid after he'd been playing outside. The sight of him brought a big smile to my face. After a few seconds watching him I turned my mind back to the salad and concentrated on slicing-up some cucumber. Soon I was finished and the plates were laid out.

"Adam, it's ready" I called.

There was no answer.

"Sweetheart? I've got your salad here? Aren't you going to come and join me?

Still no response.

I started to suspect that he had gone to his room to lie down for a minute and ended up falling asleep. It wouldn't be the first time. I always felt he worked too hard. I wasn't sure though, so I decided to go and check.

I was half-way to his room when I caught sight of something that stopped me dead in my tracks. Through the open door of the shower-room which lay en-route I could see my son, stark naked, and drying himself with a towel in front of the mirror. He had his back to me for a moment and was unaware of that I could see him. Maybe I should have turned away and forgotten what I saw. But it wasn't that easy. I was mesmerised. His broad shoulders, narrow hips, firm behind - it was simply too much to ignore. Whilst I was in this daze of admiration my son spotted my reflection. I expected him to be embarrassed and quickly cover himself up. Instead he turned calmly and confidently to face me. When I saw him from the front I gasped. Oh my God, what a gorgeous big cock! My heart was thumping so hard I though it would break.

Is this what had become of my little blue-eyed boy? I had seen him grow up big and stong from playing lots of sports, but I never imagined he would turn into the greek-god I saw before me.

"Sweetheart, I er..." My struggle to say something faltered.

Adam merely smiled.

"Yes mum?" He asked calmly.

I couldn't respond. For what felt like an eternity I could only look-on in amazement. The beginnings of some confused, forbidden thoughts were whirring around in my mind. Stood before me was the most beautiful man I've ever seen. My own son! I felt so helpless before him, as though he had bewitched me. His eyes intently followed mine. He saw how they widened with involuntary excitement as I scoured every inch of his lean, hard, glistening body. He saw too how my lips parted with awe at the sight of his big cock. The moment seemed to last forever. I had to say something - anything! I blurted out the first thing that came into my mind.

"Wow, your girlfriend is very lucky!"

That sentence seemed to hang in the air for ever. I couldn't believe what I'd just said. It was so much unlike the woman I knew myself to be. All my life I'd prided myself on behaving in a ladylike manner. What had come over me? What was my son going to say?

For a moment there was an nothing but intense stillness. Then, with the sudden, startling impact of a lightning bolt, my son's whole demeanour changed. He looked at me in a way I'd never seen before. It was as if something had awakened in his mind. Perhaps a long lost thought had been rekindled, or some deep-lying passion had been unleashed after years of lying dormant. As I was trying to decipher that inscrutible look he reached out his hands and placed them upon my shoulders. It was as though he was steadying me for something big he wanted to say. I was trembling wildly before him. I couldn't tell if I was afraid or excited.

"Mum, I want you." He said in a low and tense voice. His whole body seemed be straining from the potency of some incredible urge. "Do you understand? I WANT YOU!"

It was almost too much for me to take. In the matter of a few minutes my life had gone from consistent normality to the utterly surreal. Did I hear my son correctly? Did he really just say that he 'wanted' me? I felt that I should try and try to disuade him.

"Sweetheart - Adam, that's not the kind of thing you should be thinking. I'm your mother."

"So what?"

"Well," I struggled to keep my eyes off of his cock. "When a mother and son do that kind of thing it's...well, it's wrong isn't it?"

"It doesn't have to be. We're both adults. If we both want it who get's hurt?"

"But it's immoral."

"Mum, look at me. Do you want me too?"

"What kind of a question is that?"

"Just tell me if you don't. I'll back off and we can forget this ever happened. Look at me and tell me truthfully mum, do you want me too."

"I...er...sweetheart this isn't fair. I admit that I think you are an attractive young man. You're certainly very big and healthy, but -"

I was cut short. He pushed me against the wall and kissed me on the lips. At first I made a genuine effort to resist him. It didn't last long though. When I felt that majestic cock, already three-quarters hard, pressing into my thigh through my skirt, my defiant stance disintegrated. My moral compass was skewed by that one awesome sensation. For the first time I understood what unbridled lust really was. All my scruples were obliterated. Now I could only think about my beautiful son and all the wonderful nasty things that I wanted us to do.