by NewAnon ©
I'm sitting down to write this story two days after the incredible event. We were bad, really bad. But the event was beautiful. And I know why. It was beautiful because it was really a bad thing to do. It actually happened and now I am feeling the ambivalent implications of it. I haven't sorted it all out yet, but I feel a compulsion to put it down on paper.
It seems unbelievable to me even a couple of days later and so I want to be sure that I get it down for the record, so I won't confuse it with fantasy in the coming decades. Certainly, although there were earlier clues, I would never have expected my wife Gina to ... well that's the story to be told. She will want to read it too, because she is at the center of the story, a story of a woman's ecstasy.
And telling it is almost a compulsion. I probably will never experience such an event again. It would be up to Gina, actually, and from what I've been able to figure out in the short time involved, she is regarding it as a one-time incident. "It could never be that way again," she said, "so why spoil the memory?" Besides, she might have added, it was bad, in the sense of wrong. And yet ... but that's the ambivalence of it.
I can't just blurt out what happened, nor can I fully capture the event in words, as much as I'd like to. Some background is needed about me and about the other "characters" in this story.
The recent event would never have happened except for the Internet and, in particular, the story sites. A year ago, I knew nothing about them. Then, with some time on my hands, I began searching here and there on the Web -- you know how it is. Then I hit a story site for the first time. I remember looking over a list and downloading a half dozen stories. I sat at my computer and had a revelation about my inner self.
Only one story turned me on. It had a very special theme. No violence. No pain. Just sexual love ... forbidden sexual love.
The story was about a mother who finds herself attracted to her nineteen-year old son. An old story, sure. As the well-written, slow-moving tale unfolded, at first only mildly erotic events occurred. Mother takes note that her son is masturbating a lot. The son sneaks peaks at his mother's breasts and ass without her awareness of it. Mom sees his erection one morning. She finds herself excited. She begins dressing in a more provocative way around the house. And so forth. The incidents are filled with anticipations of what might or could happen, but only at the very end of the story, in which literally years go by, do the protagonists have sex. By that time, the son had gone off somewhere for a year. Then, finally, when he returns on a visit, their interaction explodes into full-fledged lust, culminating in mother and son making love.
As I say, that was a year ago. That was my first encounter with what turned out to be the only sort of erotic story that turned me on. Over the past year, I've downloaded dozens of similar stories, always favoring the mother and son type.
Perhaps younger people enjoy these stories with little guilt today. But at my age, that isn't true. I had a sexual thrill in reading these stories as I sought them out on the Internet. Yet, I began to analyze myself in doing so because I had the feeling that I was not supposed to be doing this sort of thing. It was not only that the activity was categorized as bad, but that even wanting to read about it was defined as bad. And I had internalized those definitions.
Still, apart from good and bad, why was I turned on by this sort of story theme and not by some others?
My self-analysis led me to focus on some events that happened in our household some years ago, when our son Jimmy still lived with us.
My wife Gina, who is about my age, is a tall dark-haired woman with long legs, large breasts and with a very outgoing and effervescent personality. And when sexually aroused, she is wild!
Anyway, to get to the point, Gina and I used to have regular lovemaking sessions on Saturday afternoons. We got into a certain habitual pattern in which first I would take my bath, and then it was her turn.
For whatever original reason I don't know, but Jimmy would be called into the bathroom to wash his Mom's back, at least that's how it began. But after a while, I used to hear Gina asking him to wash her breasts, even though she used to initiate the situation by calling out to him, "Jimmy, want to wash Mom's back, dear?"
Once, when I came up close to the bathroom door and peeked in, I saw that he had lathered soap on his hands and had then begun a slow massage of her breasts.
I heard her moan a little as she said, "Hmm, you make Mom feel so good. Do you like to wash Mom's bosom?"
I heard an affirmative grunt and then backed away to wait in bed for her. When she joined me, I found her more than ready for lovemaking, indeed incredibly eager.
So, the next time she was about to take her bath, I whispered to her, "Hey, babe, going to have your son get you ready for fucking?"
I used the latter word as a turn-on for both of us, since we definitely avoided its use on all other occasions.
So just asking the question in that way turned me on.
Gina paused and then came up close to me and whispered a question in reply that I was never to forget.
"Yes, but to tell the truth, I wonder about it. I like it too much, it's an incredible turn-on. Is it OK, do you think? I won't suck or fuck him."
I remembered that my excitement increased as I replied something to the effect, "Sure, honey, enjoy."
So the bath eroticism continued until some months later, as I recall. Then one day Gina mentioned that our son was masturbating several times a day.
"How do you know," I remember asking.
"I know," was all she said.
Anyway, Jimmy must have been disappointed with a decision that Gina made when his Mom told him that she didn't need him to "wash her back" anymore.
So after that the Saturday afternoon eroticism was strictly in our bedroom between Gina and me.
As I say, that was some years ago.
What I am saying is that I think over the past year the discovery of the excitement I felt in reading mother-son sex stories goes back to those events. I had been turned-on by the bath eroticism, as I am calling it.
It was not merely that it had occurred, that Jimmy had massaged his mother's hefty breasts and that she had encouraged it, expressing enjoyment. It also was that she had admitted to me that it was a turn-on, recognizing herself some sexual attraction to her son.
Anyway, to get the present time: I've been absorbed in all these erotic mother-son stories this past year. I'm indicating that so that you will understand. Also, I've given you my analysis and, in the course of it, revealed something about my lovely wife Gina.
All this has been a prelude to the wild events that occurred just this past weekend. Jimmy came to stay with us for the weekend. He was in town to attend a conference, it turned out, and he stayed in his old room. We had the space, no problem.
It was a Saturday.
After lunch, we spent a few hours talking. Actually, we had had a few drinks too. It wasn't that unusual for us -- Gina and me -- to imbibe on a Saturday afternoon as a prelude to our sex.
I guess Jimmy ordinarily did not drink that much, but he did join us and seemed a little inebriated after a while. I have to admit that I might have had one too many as well. Gina seemed a bit tipsy too, come to think of it. Let's face it, we were all a bit tipsy, otherwise none of this would have happened.
Upon seeing that it was four o'clock, I spoke out cheerfully, "Time for baths! Saturday, you know!"
Gina flushed and Jimmy looked startled for a minute, then laughed, remembering the ritual.
"Hey, Mom and Dad, you still make it every Saturday afternoon, huh?"
"Hmmm, we sure do!" Gina said, taking a gulp of her drink and then looked over at me. "Go ahead, lover, go take your bath -- shower! -- and hurry up, I need some action!"
As I was about to leave the room, I heard Jimmy laughingly turn to Gina, "Mom, remember you used to call me to come in and wash your ... back? That was turn-on!"
"What?" she replied, her face turning red. "Wait a minute, that was a turn-on for you?"
"Sure, Mom, who else? Wait a minute ... are you saying ...?"
I left the room then, to take my bath. I only learned later how the rest of the conversation went.
"Jimmy," Gina said, probably slurring her words, given all her drinking, "what do you think? Those hands on me ... you truly got me ready for lovemaking."
Gina told me that at that point, Jimmy began to ogle her breasts. She had felt herself respond, feeling warm and sexy. She couldn't help looking at her son in an interested way, eyeing the tall handsome young man that he was, who had once made he feel so incredibly ready for hot sex.
She told me later that Jimmy had leaned toward her as they sat near each other on the couch. What he whispered to his mother created the real start of the wild thing, the bad thing, the beautiful thing that happened a little later.
"Mom, let me do it again today, OK? It'll be fun!"
Gina told me she had been shocked but thrilled. Her body had felt on fire. She had closed her eyes, trying to get some bearing on the situation, ready to laugh it off with a joke and a "no."
But somewhere between the intention and the saying, the word became "yes."
A little while later, I was in the bedroom waiting for Gina, when I heard Jimmy go to the second bathroom. I heard the shower turn on. I figured, and I was correct, that Gina would wait for him to finish using the water before she started her bath.
After a while, I heard Gina come upstairs just as the shower turned off. She undressed and went to the bathroom.
I heard the water start. After no more than five minutes, Jimmy came out of the other bathroom, and I saw that he wore only his briefs.
I heard Gina call out. "Jimmy, come wash Mom's back, baby."
I almost fell out of the bed. Don't forget that I did not find out about their earlier conversation until later.
|Another top quality story by NewAnon.|
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