tagIncest/TabooTriangled Up in Blue

Triangled Up in Blue

byBonnevilleFlats©

The following story concerns a love triangle between a mother, her son and her best friend. In the first chapter no actual incest occurs, only role play. All characters in this story are over the age of eighteen.

*

When my mother's best friend Dottie and I first started taking care of each other's needs she would encourage me to find a steady girlfriend, somebody closer to my own age. "Bad enough I'm robbing the cradle," she'd say, "I'm not going to rob you of your youth." But when she visited the perfume counter at Macy's and discovered that Maria, the "nice girl" I'd taken out to lunch the previous weekend, had been a high school classmate of hers she sat me down in her living room and said, "We need to talk."

"I don't understand," she said. "What is it with you and old ladies?"

I shrugged my shoulders.

"Just find women your age sexier, I guess."

I wasn't lying. There was something about a sixty year old woman all dolled up, hair dyed blonde and teased, dressed to the nines, paunchy belly and pale speckled cleavage that drove me wild. The fine lines around the corners of her mouth and eyes barely visible beneath the heavy makeup only intensified the effect. And a string of pearls made me want to kiss and nibble my way down her neck and bury my face in her crinkled bosom.

I was twenty when Dottie and I got together. She was sixty-one and had known me for as long as we'd lived in the apartment complex which had been all of my life. We were lovers but had never been "in love". It was hot, clandestine sex, plain and simple. Dottie was plus size; round tummy, wide hips and breasts that seemed to spill out all over the place the moment she unhooked her harness-like bra. She wore her platinum hair short but had the pixie shaped face to pull off a hairstyle that made many plus size women look masculine.

It started one evening when I returned home from class. Dottie was visiting my mother. There was an empty wine bottle on the coffee table and both of them seemed a bit tipsy. I sat next to Dottie on the couch and she began to flirt, one arm around my shoulder and touching my chest with her free hand as she commented on how big I'd gotten. I shivered and my nipples stiffened like a girl's, an embarrassing peculiarity that happened whenever I got aroused. Dottie didn't seem to mind, though. She fondled them through my t-shirt as she commented on how I was blushing. I decided to call her bluff and flirted back, leaning up against her and resting my head in the area between her shoulder and breasts. I closed my eyes and let Dottie play with my hair. I breathed in her scent., an intoxicating combination of cigarettes, wine and perfume.

The whole episode would have gone no farther than a cuddle on the sofa had my mother not decided to bring the dirty plates and empty glasses into the kitchen. While the water ran I raised my head, brushed Dottie's hair from her eyes, traced a line with my fingertips from her cheek to the fleshy part of her neck and pulled her close. Dottie's mouth opened slightly and our lips met. We kissed slowly at first, sampling each other as if nibbling on an appetizer. Then she pushed herself against me. Our tongues swirled and danced as my free hand began to roam around her waist and thighs. The kiss ended abruptly when the water from the kitchen sink stopped and my mother returned to the living room.

"I've got to get home," Dottie said to my mother. "You don't mind if I borrow this strapping young man for a few minutes. I don't like walking across the courtyard by myself at night."

"Go right ahead," my mother said. "And you ought to have him take a look at that garbage disposal you said was jammed. It might take a week before the maintenance guy gets around to it."

For the next five years I'd tell my mother I was out with friends on the evenings spent holed up in Dottie's apartment. I don't know if she suspected or not. As long as we were careful there was little chance she would catch us together. Mother rarely left the apartment. She was agoraphobic and extremely sensitive about her size. In her younger days she had been a voluptuous beauty. Her dark eyes and curly black locks that seemed to cascade past her shoulders brought to mind the sort of actresses who are cast as shy but beautiful peasant girls. A local department store hired her to model plus size clothing for newspaper ads while she was still in high school. But she never lost the baby weight after I was born. Her appetite and inactivity caused her to pack on the pounds. My father left home when I was a baby. I never saw him again. Dottie helped out with the shopping and anything else that required driving. The three of us -- two chubby matrons and a growing boy -- took care of each other. It was a complicated situation. I don't know what might have happened if Dottie hadn't stepped in and taken care of me when she did. I would have been terribly conflicted if I had to choose between getting married and taking care of Mother. She might have been left all alone.

The situation couldn't go on indefinitely. Dottie retired from the phone company and bought a condo in Florida. She dropped the bomb one evening while we were watching tv in the bedroom after making love.

"We both knew this day would come," Dottie said as she grabbed her cigarette pack and lighter from the nightstand. "And don't act all lovesick on me now. This was never on those kind of terms. For either of us."

I propped some pillows on the headboard and took a Salem from her cigarette pack.

"I know," I said as I lit the cigarette. "I just never planned for it, that's all. How am I going to find another fox as sexy as you are?"

Dottie reached underneath the bedclothes and rubbed my thigh.

"You're sweet, David. But let's be real. I'm a sixty-six year old grandma and you are a twenty-five year old man. In the prime of your life. You'll have no problem finding someone, especially if you start dating women your own age. All I want is to retire and spend my last years near my grandkids."

"You deserve that," I said. "But how many women are going to want to be with someone in my situation?"

Dottie blew a stream of smoke across the bed.

"You never know," She said. "You are good looking, successful and a certifiable stud in bed thanks to me."

"Taking care of a mother who never leaves the apartment."

Dottie put her arm around my waist, brushed my cheek with her fingertips and stared into my eyes.

"You've taken good care of your Mom," she said. "Maybe it's time you let her take care of you."

"Huh?" I said, tilting my head, not quite getting the gist of what Dottie was saying.

"I mean, let her take care of you the way I take care of you."

Stunned, I stared at Dottie for a few moments.

"Jesus, Dottie, that's crazy!"

"Is it? I mean, for all practical purposes -- save one -- she is your significant other. You'll never leave her. Hell, you won't date a woman if there is slightest chance of you falling in love."

"That's because I'm with you, Dottie. You're my girlfriend."

Dottie stabbed out her cigarette.

"Come on, David. Not only am I old enough to be your mother, she and I look enough alike that most people think we're sisters. If I was fifteen years younger and sixty pounds heavier she and I could be twins."

"Are you accusing me of wanting to fuck my own..."

"I am not accusing you of anything. You and I have been able to meet each other's needs without taking over each other's lives. But in five weeks I'm moving to Florida. And Alice? Short of a plumber coming into the apartment and the two of them falling madly in love there is no chance of her meeting anybody. You are all she has. She adores you."

"But that's incest!" I protested.

"The oldest taboo on the planet," Dottie said, caressing my thighs with her fingertips. "Keeps the species from becoming inbred and weak. But aside from the possibility of pregnancy, the only real argument against a grown man sleeping with his mother is that he will never start a family of his own. Hate to say it, David, you are already in that place. You've been the man in her life since you were born."

I exhaled a stream of smoke, shook my head and told Dottie I'd never thought of my mother in a sexual way. Well, that wasn't exactly true. Mom and I would snuggle underneath a blanket whenever we'd watch a movie. The pillowy softness of her bosom against my cheek and my hand across her belly would cause me to tent my pajama bottoms. Then there were the times I lingered outside her bedroom when the door was partially open, watching mother as she slipped into her terrycloth housecoat. Her thighs were thick, the soft flesh pale white and dimpled like curdled milk. The way her belly hung below the band of her panties reminded me of a fertility goddess from some South Pacific tribe. Despite her girth every part of my mother's body was in proportion. She was pear shaped with breasts large enough not to be obscured by her tummy and her hips. Her thighs and ass were enough to suggest an hourglass despite weighing over three hundred pounds. But with Dottie just across the courtyard there was never any reason to lock my bedroom door and stroke myself as I imagined doing the sacred dance with my own mother.

I snuffed out the cigarette in the ashtray as Dottie cupped my balls and wrapped her fingers around the shaft of my stiff cock.

"Looks like all this talk about sleeping with Mommy has gotten you aroused," she said. "Could it be that Mr. "Never Thought About My Mother That Way" is warming up to the idea?"

"That's a possibility," I said. "But Mom? I doubt she ever thinks about sex."

Dottie began to laugh.

"Little boys and their mommies," she said, shaking her head. "Your mother and I are best friends. We talk. Believe me, Alice is as horny as any of us, especially since her hysterectomy."

"For real?"

"Oh yeah," Dottie said. "Look in her nightstand sometime. You'll find a few toys, some disinfectant and a tube of K.Y. I should know. I'm the one she sends to Spencer's with a shopping list."

I felt my face go flush.

"No way," I said.

"Yes. While the two of us are screwing our brains out your mother is underneath the covers imagining all kinds of things as the rabbit buzzes his way in and out of the bunny hole."

My pulse quickened at the thought of my own mother lying on her back, her hips squirming as she brings the vibrator in and out of her wet pussy. I wondered if she caressed her pendulous breasts with her other hand, pinching and tweaking her nipples until they were as hard and thick as a baby's pacifier. I imagined myself at her side, suckling her breasts as she brought herself to orgasm. Dottie began to stroke my shaft.

"Mother plays with her toys but what she really wants is her boy, now all grown up, kissing her all over. Mommy wants you to suck her boobies."

Dottie sat up and opened the transparent black bed coat. Her breasts hung almost to her belly button, the nipples pointing towards her lap. She cupped and lifted them as though her hands were a push up bra. The skin between her breasts was wrinkled, the breasts themselves soft and pliant, like a pair of helium balloons drifting slowly towards the floor on the morning after a birthday party. She grabbed the back of my head, pulling me towards her plump globes. My tongued circled the pinkish brown areoles before I placed my mouth over her nipple and began to nurse.

A strange calm came over me as Dottie covered me with the blanket and kissed my brow. My cock poked at her mound but I did not want to break the spell. I was a child, safely in the warmth of his mother's arms. She began to run her fingernails up and down my back.

"Mother's baby boy has gotten so big," she said. "He's a young man, big enough to take care of her. She has needs too, you know."

"Like what?" I asked, lifting my head from her breast.

"Well, baby, you know how sometimes you have naughty thoughts and go into your room and touch yourself? Well, Mother has them too. And sometimes she has to touch herself down there. But for a woman touching herself isn't enough. She needs more."

"More?" I asked.

"When Mother has naughty thoughts she needs a man to love on her. To touch and kiss the special places on her body. When Mother has naughty thoughts it is like an itch that only a man can scratch. But it can't be just any man. It has to be somebody special."

The role play cast a spell over the bedroom that I found irresistible. I was now an eighteen year old virgin who had wandered into his mother's boudoir in the midst of a private moment and was powerless to leave. She'd introduced him to her body and confessed her needs. Now they were caught up in current that would subside only after the young man's deflowering in his mother's bed. I looked into Dottie's eyes and at that moment desired nothing more than to be her son.

"Am I special?" I asked. I felt a yearning along with an underlying vulnerability should she say I was anything less than special.

"Oh yes, baby," Dottie said, reassuring me as she caressed my cheek. "You are my special man. You are so good to me. And only nice young men who grow up and make their mothers proud get to touch their special places. But you can't tell anyone. It has to be our secret."

"Why is that?"

"Because other people won't understand how good sons who love their mother can turn something naughty into something very special. We could get in trouble."

"I won't tell anyone."

"Do you promise?"

"Yes, Mother. I know how to keep a secret."

"I knew you'd understand," Dottie said. "You are so mature for a young man. Have you ever kissed a woman before?"

"In high school I played spin the bottle a few times at parties," I said. "And Susie and I kissed after the prom."

She ran her hand through my hair and stroked my cheek.

"Those were girls, not women," Dottie said. "Now that you are grown up you need a real woman to appreciate you. Someone who loves you and appreciates your maturity. And kissing a woman is different than kissing a girl."

"How so?" I asked.

"There is a special way Mother likes to be kissed when she is having her naughty thoughts. You put your arm around her like you are giving her a hug. Then you kiss her on the mouth. Gentle and slow. After a few kisses you open your mouth, stick out your tongue a little bit, just enough to get inside Mother's mouth, and touch her tongue. Would you like to try a special kiss?"

I nodded then wrapped my arms around Dottie's upper back and head. I moved my head slowly, like a teenager about to have his first kiss. Dottie kept her eyes open and smiled approvingly as I moved towards her. Our lips met. After a few leisurely kisses I opened my mouth and touched her tongue tentatively, as if tasting a strange food for the first time. Dottie moaned softly as if exhaling after holding her breath. Our lips parted and she rested her forehead against mine.

"That's a special kiss," Dottie said, "the way you kiss somebody special when you are having naughty thoughts."

Dottie looked down at my erect penis. I feigned embarrassment and covered it with the comforter. Dottie patted my head.

"That's nothing to be ashamed of," Dottie said. "If that happens when you are giving Mother a special kiss it means that you think the kiss is special too."

"It isn't naughty?"

"Well, maybe a little," Dottie said. "But as long as Mother is also having naughty thoughts it is okay. Remember what I said about turning something naughty into something special? The special kiss is one of the ways you do that."

"Are there other ways to turn something naughty into something special?" I asked.

"Actually, what you do is add other things to the special kiss," Dottie said.

"Like what?"

"Using your hands," Dottie said. "When you give Mother a special kiss your left hand is your kissing hand. You use it to cradle her gently so she feels safe. Then, with your right hand, you explore Mother's body like this."

Dottie took my hand in hers and led me on a tour of her upper body. We started just beside her breast and moved towards her waist. She spread my fingers as I traced a path across her lap, my pinky and ring finger touching her silky smooth black panties. She had me linger at her belly a bit before bringing my hands to the bottom of her breast. I did the circuit a second time on my own. Then Dottie moved her face towards mine and the two of us shared one special kiss after another as my hands explored her belly, bosom and the sweaty area with the tufts of hair between her thighs. It was a body I'd touched hundreds of times during the years we'd been lovers but in the midst of the role play the familiar places took on new meaning. The stretch marks were no longer evidence of our age gap but physical testimony to the nine months she'd carried me before giving birth. Her sagging of her breasts were now the result of years of daily suckling. Mother loved me and her body showed it.

I stopped running the circuit and rested my hand at the bottom of her left breast. I pushed lightly with my fingertips as if I was a piano player attempting to play a melody while the rest of the house was sleeping.

"I think you like touching your mother's titties," Dottie said.

"I do. You have pretty titties."

"You're so sweet," Dottie said. "But Mother's titties are soft and floppy, not like a young lady's. Most men don't want a woman whose titties have been stretched out by the suckling of little boys."

"But I think they are beautiful," I protested.

Dottie held a breast in each hand and examined them as if she was considering what I'd said.

"Do you know why you think Mother has pretty titties?" she asked. "It is because you did this to them back when you were a baby. Only a boy who stretched them out with his own sucking would ever think they were pretty. Daddy didn't. He stopped thinking they were pretty."

"It was hurtful what Daddy did to us."

"Yes it was, sweetheart. And now no other man would ever think they are pretty enough to kiss." She made a sad face that slowly brightened as she looked into my eyes and stroked my brow. "But you like them. I can tell they make you feel naughty."

Dottie squeezed my erect member.

"Mother can always tell when her boy is thinking naughty thoughts," Dottie said, massaging the head of my penis with her fingertips. "But that is okay because you can tell when I'm thinking naughty thoughts."

"How's that?" I asked.

Dottie lifted a breast with her left and fingered her stiff nipple.

"When Mother starts thinking naughty thoughts her nipples get stiff like when it is cold. So, when you see that Mother's nipples are stiff like this through her nightie you know she's thinking about being naughty. She wants somebody to do special things to her titties."

"I'm special," I said.

"Yes you are, David," Dottie kissed me on the forehead. "You are the only person who feels naughty when he looks at his mother's titties. That makes you very special."

I asked if there was a special way to touch her breasts.

"Yes there is," Dottie said. "When you were little you sucked at my breasts to drink my milk. That is special but you should save that for the very end, after you do everything I tell you to do and I start screaming, 'Oh my god!' But first you touch and kiss Mother's boobies in a special way."

Dottie instructed me in the finer ways of sucking, fondling and caressing her pendulant breasts. I went to work, licking at her areoles and nipples as though they were an ice cream cone on a hot summer day, occasionally pretending that melting soft serve was running down her globes and I had to lick up every drop. With my free hand I pinched at her other nipple and squeezed. Dottie was one of those women who could reach orgasm when somebody played with her breasts the way she liked it. I could tell she was getting close when she started breathing heavy.

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