Waiting for that Special Lady

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We spent the rest of the afternoon alternating between reading on the beach and swimming in the water. What little crowd there was had pretty much thinned out completely by 4:00 and the lifeguard area was closing up for the evening as well. The same guy that had been talking to my mother when I came out of the water was walking back up to us now, hand-in-hand with a hot little blonde that would have fit nicely into the cast of "Baywatch." He walked up to us and got down on one knee in front of us, while his girlfriend stood behind him, rubbing his shoulders. "I never know exactly how to approach this subject, but from our little talk earlier, I thought you might be interested." He was looking directly at my mother, while his girlfriend was now looking right at me." He continued, "We're going to be having a party tonight, sort of a 'swingers' party if you and your boyfriend here would like to come along. We'd both really like to have you." The last sentence was pregnant with innuendo.

Before I knew it, I had blurted out "I'm not her boyfriend; I'm her son, you fucking perv!"

I have never seen a guy lose his cool so quickly. And by cool, I mean that this guy really thought he was hot shit when he came up, trying to woo my mother with his girlfriend's permission. But now, he was stammering and apologizing and trying to save face and balk away all at once, while I was sort of pushing him away. If I hadn't been so upset, I'm sure I would have laughed at the situation. Which is exactly what my mother's response was.

"You could have at least played along, you know. Is the thought of being with somebody my age really that appalling? Besides, it really seemed that his girlfriend was into you, and from the number of nights in a row you've been home, I would guess that your love life is just as dull as mine."

I hastily grabbed my things and said I was leaving, and stormed off alone...just like a 4 year old in the midst of a temper tantrum. My mom tried to call after me, but it was no use. I was pissed. I was jealous. I was angry for reasons I wasn't even aware. How dare my mother insult me like that! How dare she assume that my love life was "dull" (which, of course, it was)! How dare she take such a cavalier attitude toward it and practically laugh in my face! How dare that guy assume that I was her boyfriend, or that I would want to share her with anybody if she was! I was mad at the world.

Deep inside, though, I knew why I was so upset. I was mad because my mother was right. I was tired of being a virgin. I was tired of having to get myself off on my own every night. I was angry that I didn't have a girlfriend who was willing to go down on me and let me eat her out, and to do it to her doggy-style, and all of the other filthily erotic things I had in mind. But most of all, I was upset that all day long, I had been thinking how much I wanted that person, that dirty, filthy whore, to be my mother. I hadn't been able to shake the thought all day. It was like an avalanche of momentum all day long: the realization that my mother masturbates to her "naughty books;" that she was going to be doing so virtually right under my nose; that she liked to dress in such sexy lingerie; that she hadn't been getting any in so long – so long in fact that she was forced to use a big black dildo on herself (and why was that dildo such a turn on for me? Was it simply because of the dildo's intended outcome, or was it because of the dildo itself? Was the thought of a big black cock what was helping to drive me over the edge?). All of this, combined with the massage she had given me, was pushing me dangerously close something that I was not at all ready to handle.

I was becoming sexually obsessed with my mother.

I entered the house pissed. I threw my things on the ground and stomped off to my bedroom. Once in there, I realized I had no idea what I was doing and decided to go take a long hot shower. I lathered up my hair and rinsed, soaped up my upper torso, and rinsed. I started working on my legs, and all of a sudden, for the first time since getting back from the beach, I started to think again about my mother. Something about the way I was soaping up my legs; it was reminding me of how she had put the lotion on her own legs earlier that day. Suddenly, memories of my mother from days gone by started to flood my mind. How many times had I watched her removing her stockings late after work, or bending down to tie her shoes? How many times had I been with a friend or two and seen her bounce down the stairs into the family room wearing one of her ultra-miniskirts, my friends' mouths agape? All those times, without ever really knowing it, I had been looking at her in a way that a son should not look at his mother.

My cock began to twitch. I was getting hard one more time. I began soaping it up, and stroking it slowly, so painfully slowly. I closed my eyes and breathed in the warm comforting scent of Irish Spring. In my mind's eye, I saw my mother, in her beautiful one-piece bathing suit; the way it hugged her hips. Her tits, nearly spilling out of the top. How soft her skin was as I rubbed the suntan lotion into her. Oh, how I wished it could have been my cum that I was rubbing into her! I remembered her hands, so warm and tender on my shoulders and back; how gentle they were as they approached the waistband of my shorts. I played with my balls now, and thought how much I would love to have my own mother suck on them. I thought how great it would be to run my hands through her hair as she blew me. I was so close to cumming already, but I wanted this to last.

I kept the shower on, but got down on my back in the bathtub, so the water, as hot as I could get it, slapped into my chest. I soaped up my dick again, and played with it for awhile more. My mind drifted to my mother holding that big black dildo, stroking it with the panties in her hand, I tried to match my rhythm to hers as best I could remember – not that the image would be lost; it was something I was sure I'd hold onto forever. I found myself focusing more and more on the dildo now, thinking how impossibly big it looked in her little white hand. I thought of her, lying in her bed, propped up on her pillows, wearing nothing but that little red g-string I saw earlier, and a pair of stockings, slamming that dildo into her, as deep as she could, and then slowly, lasciviously, pulling it back out, feeling every vein, moaning as inch after inch after inch pulled back out of her, spreading her lips...all the way out and then plunging it right back in, somehow even deeper than before. I wanted to know what her face looked like when she was just about to cum. What was her other hand doing when one was being used to guide the rubber cock in and out of her cunt? In my mind, I saw it slip down to her asshole, and I let my own hand follow suit. I placed one carefully soaped up hand and the entrance to my own hole and started to run my finger around the rim, similar to how my mother traced hers along the rim of her coffee mug as she questioned me about my porn stash. I slipped a finger in, and then it happened. I came harder that I ever had before. I shot cum so far that it landed on my cheek. A drop or two had actually shot into my mouth, allowing me to taste my own cum for the first time.

I had realized that in my orgasmic bliss, I had been grunting and moaning pretty loudly. I now hoped that my mother hadn't yet returned from the beach. I shut the water off, toweled myself off, wrapped my bathrobe around me and headed down to my room. As I passed my mother's room, her door was shut. This meant, of course, that she was home. Whether or not she heard me was anybody's guess.

I took a nap after drying off and when I awoke, it was to find my mother sitting on the edge of my bed, playing with my hair, brushing it off of my forehead. It was twilight now, and getting dark fast. There were no lights on in the room, but I could see that she was in a bathrobe herself and had most likely just returned from the shower. As I groggily came to, she told me that she really didn't want to wake me, but that she thought we should talk. She said she was going to get dressed and start a light dinner, and she hoped that, if I wasn't too upset, I would join her in the kitchen in about 45 minutes.

I made my way downstairs to find that the dinner table was set for two (my sister, 3 years my senior, was hardly ever home these days) with a nice salad and a bottle of wine. My mother was dressed in another summer dress, hair pulled back, and she was tossing some pasta together with some sauce. She asked me to sit and poured me a glass of wine. She said that she thought I was mature enough to handle it, as long as I didn't get out of control. In a few minutes, dinner was ready, and we sat down together.

She was the first to speak. "Matthew," she only called me Matthew when things were serious or when she was upset with me, "I want to let you know that I am tremendously sorry for what happened earlier today. It was just so wrong." I tried to interrupt, to tell her otherwise, that it was my own actions that were crying out for an apology, but she wouldn't let me. "You're a man now, a very handsome young man. I have seen the change taking place right in front of my very eyes. But I guess that I selfishly didn't want that to happen, because if you're getting older, that must mean that I am too. I am sorry that I teased you earlier. It wasn't right how I acted. I was treating you as if you and I were both young teenagers, and I am really ashamed of it."

The look of concern on her face was so sincere, so tender; it nearly brought me to tears. I wanted to walk over to her and cup her face in my hands, and kiss her on the lips, like a son shouldn't do. I wanted to tell her that I had acted so immaturely, only because I couldn't handle the feeling I had inside. The feelings of love. I loved my mother. I loved her the way a man loves a woman, not just the way a son loves his mother. I wanted so badly to tell her this, and the wine was filling me with just enough false bravery, that I felt that not only could I say these things, but that I could do so in a way that would make her weak in the knees. But before I could muster up the nerve, she switched gears on me completely and told me she was going out tonight.

"I know I have to work in the morning, but if worse comes to worse, I can always call out sick again."

"But who are you going out with?" I asked, knowing that there currently were no men in her life.

"After you left, Alex, that young lifeguard came back over to apologize. He was so sweet. He felt so badly. He really thought you were going to knock him out!"

"And I should have!" I blurted out, feeling the anger coming back, and knowing that it was showing on my face.

"Matthew, it's ok. He's a nice kid. And pretty cute, too. He said that he and his girlfriend talked and they decided to have their 'swingers party' another night. He said that he wanted to make it up to me and asked if he could take me dancing tonight. You know how much I love to dance, Matt, and it's been so long since I've gone out. When he looked up at me with those big brown puppy dog eyes, how could I resist?"

I tried to come up with something to say that would get her to change her mind, but all that came out was, "But you don't even know him! He's a total stranger. He could be an axe murderer for all you know! Besides, he's got a girlfriend and likes to 'swing'...how can you trust a guy like that?"

Mom started to chuckle a little at this, and came over to my side. She rested her ass up against the table and leaned into me, so her face was only a few inches away from mine. She ruffled my hair again, and said, "Awww, look at you, so protective of your mom. It's ok honey, I'm a big girl now. I can take care of myself. Besides, I just need to get away a little and have a good time. I promise I'll be careful and I'll be safe. You know, you could always go out for the night yourself. It's not like you've got school in the morning. The way he made it sound, his girlfriend is going to be all alone. I'm sure she could use somebody to come by and cheer her up!"

I was astonished. Could my own mother be hinting on to me that I should go try to sleep with the girlfriend of the guy she was going dancing with?

Maybe it was my newfound feelings for my mother, or maybe the 3 glasses of wine she let me drink, but I decided to let my mother know of my sexual inexperience. "Mom, I'm still a virgin, you know. I made you a promise that I would wait so that my first time meant something. I promised you that the first time I had sex it would be with a woman that was special to me, a woman that I loved. And I'm pretty sure that I know who that woman is, and I loved her for so long now. But now you want me to go and fuck some lifeguard whore?" It was the first time I have ever used the word "fuck" in front of my mother. I was getting emotional and tears started to well up in my eyes. I was hurt. I drained my fourth glass of wine in one gulp.

"Matthew, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't know. I really thought that somebody like you, somebody so young, so strong, and so handsome, would have lost their virginity by now. There's gotta be a million girls knocking down your door. I am glad to know, though, that you kept your promise to me, honey, and that you're waiting for true love. And I'm glad that you have your eye on somebody special. Maybe you ought to give her a call tonight and have her come over. I'm going to be gone for quite a while, and I doubt your sister is coming home. You two would have the place to yourselves..."

Pure defeat. She wasn't getting it. "No, I can assure you that she wouldn't want to be here tonight. She's already made that much clear."

"Well that's too bad honey. It might be a good thing, though, since you've had so much to drink. I really ought to get going. Why don't you give your mommy a kiss goodbye?" Mommy? She hadn't called herself that since I was a child. But I didn't have time to concern myself with that, as I sensed this was my only chance...she was asking me for a kiss, and I intended to give one to her. She kissed my cheek and moved my head down to her breast before I could really do anything, and she just sort of held it there. I could hear her heart beating. I pulled away and looked deeply into her eyes. Those mesmerizing hazel eyes. And then I leaned in for a kiss, slowly, touching my lips to hers. I begin to part mine and stick my tongue out a little, and she quickly, but tenderly, pulled my head back away from hers, saying, "whoa, there, cowboy, I think you've had a little too much to drink." But I could see there was a moment, it may have been just a brief moment, but it was there nonetheless. It was a moment of hesitation, of longing, when she looked back down to my lips and her head nodded forward for a fraction of a second. But she, having far less to drink than I, had the wherewithal to restrain herself.

I slumped back into my chair, too numb to really feel any embarrassment, and to drunk to do much of anything else. My mom called out to me that she was heading out, and not to wait up.

I had blown it. Completely and utterly blown it. But at least I might be able to blame it all on the wine, right?

I decided to have another glass of wine (why not), and was now VERY drunk). My mind kept thinking back to that damned black dildo. It was all I could think about. I decided I needed to have another look. I crept back up to my mother's room (why I was being so quiet I didn't know, since there wasn't anybody else home), and decided to look through the cabinet where I knew she had kept her "naughty books." There were about 5 or six in there, but below them I saw something I hadn't ever seen before: a few collections of magazines that were predominantly hot, erotic letters (with a few pictures, too). There were some bookmarks in a couple of them, so I went to those first. Almost all of them involved older women fucking younger guys. It seemed my mom had a bit of a fetish. I started to dig around a little deeper, and found another one toward the back that was far more explicit, and had some very raunchy stories, including some incest.

I decided to read a few of these, and before I knew it, I had to relieve myself. I crawled up on top of her bed and began to slowly stroke myself. I was still very buzzed, and when I came, I didn't react quickly enough, and I shot my load with a spurt or two hitting the page of the story. I didn't know what to do and tried to wipe it off as best I could, but it left a very obvious stain. I buried the magazine back as far as possible, and ran to my room. I fell asleep instantly.

The next day I woke up to see that my mother had indeed decided to go to work. I had no idea if she ever came home, actually. I went back down to the beach, but being a gray, overcast day, I was pretty much alone. I left for home about 3 hours before my mother was due home, and decided, what the hell; I might as well inspect the area and see if it appears as if she found my little incident from the day before. I poured myself a big glass of wine and headed up to her room.

Everything looked pretty much as it did when I left it there, but I wasn't content to just let it alone. This time, I decided I wanted to sniff some of her panties while I jerked off. So I opened up the drawer and grabbed the first pair I saw, which was a lovely, lavender, lacy pair. I held them up to my nose and breathed in deeply. They smelled like laundry detergent. I should have realized that, in order to get the smell I was looking for, I needed to get a used pair. I folded up the pair I had taken out, and was about to put them away when something grabbed my attention. The dildo. I was alone with it now, and it seemed to be calling out to me. I picked it up out of the drawer, my hand just barely fitting around it, and the first thing I noticed was that it was much stiffer than I expected. The second thing I noticed was that again, it seemed to be covered in something that had dried on it earlier. I sniffed at it and was awarded with an odor that I presumed to be that of my mother. I was deliriously horny. My head was spinning and my heart was threatening to leap right out of my chest!

I brought it over to the bed with me, along with some magazines. I breathed in the earthy aroma again. My mouth was watering. I wanted more than ever now to find the true source of this amazing scent. I knew what I needed to do...I needed to taste it. I licked the shaft and my taste buds nearly exploded. If I thought the fragrance was sweet, the taste was even more incredible! I licked all the way up from the base to the head. The thought that I was giving a blowjob to a dildo was trying to push itself close to the front of my mind, but more than anything, I was thinking, "I'm licking my mother's cum." The thought was almost about to push me over the edge. In no time at all, I was sopping up my own saliva off of the dildo. I was going wild, thrusting my cock into the mattress and trying to clean every last spot off that beast of a cock. Before I knew it, I was trying to deep throat the dildo. I flipped onto my back, oblivious of the puddle of precum I had deposited on my mother's bedspread. I didn't care. I didn't care that she'd come home to find her bed soiled and her dildo sucked clean. All I cared about was cumming. And hard.

I read another story about family members, this one about a brother and sister that fucked each other on a family camping trip, in a tent right beside their parents. I read another about an aunt taking advantage or her nephew who was living with her while going to college. But I knew the story I wanted was that hot mother and son story. I gulped down the rest of my wine and masturbated furiously while reading that story. I ended up passing out with the magazine stuck to my chest, drying in a puddle of my own cum. I had a dirty pair of my mother's satiny panties in my hand, and was holding her dildo in it. It must have dropped down to the floor when I passed out because when I awoke, it was no longer there.