A Lonely Mom, an Experimental Son

All characters in this story are over 18 years old.

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I had just gotten home for my university's winter break, when I noticed my mom sitting on the couch, looking sad and lonesome. She was dressed in a black shirt and grey shorts, sipping on some tea. I walked over to her. "Hey Mom."

"Hi honey," she said, smiling at me as I sat down next to her.

"How are you doing?" I asked.

She sighed heavily.

"Oh, well, just the seasonal blues, you shouldn't worry about me, son." My mom seemed ready to dismiss the whole thing, but I plopped down on the couch to her left, and put my right arm on the top of the touch.

"Talk to me about it, mom! It's just between you and me."

She looked up at me, surprised by my sudden interest. "Honey... what would make you want to know that? Why do you care how your mother feels?"

"Because I love you mom!" I answered without thinking.

"But..."

"Don't say anything else mom! Just tell me why you feel bad."

Her eyes widened slightly.

"Well, I'm just a little lonely on the holidays."

"What are you lonely for, mom?" I asked. My mom turned away from me slightly, looking bashful--or embarrassed.

"It's not really something I should talk about, dear."

"Please mom, I need to hear this."

She paused for a moment, then began to speak. "You see, it seems like every year around Christmas time, I start getting these urges. I haven't been in a relationship for so long, I've almost forgotten what it was like. I guess I just miss having a man around--I mean, of course you're here, and I love my son, but it's not like that." My mom paused and look a bit embarassed at having told me this.

"Of course you have me, mom!" I said, smiling. I put my arm around her shoulders and gave her a friendly, strong squeeze. My arm muscles were noticeable through my thin, white, and small college t-shirt, and my strong legs were evidence given my short black shorts.

"Yes, I have you, son. And yes, I love you. But sometimes I wish there was someone else here, too. Someone who could fill in all those empty spaces."

"Well do you want me to visit more often, mom? I can spend more time with you if it'll help fill in what's missing!."

"Err, well, son, you shouldn't exactly fill the needs I'm talking about." My mom nervously said. Her voice was barely above a whisper, and she avoided eye contact.

"Mom, you don't have to be ashamed of wanting attention. I understand. Do you want me to compliment you more?"

"Honey, you're sweet, but it would never be appropriate for you to do what I'm talking about."

"So what are you talking about, mom? Never say never." My mom looked even more flustered, and seemed uncomfortable. She glanced at my chest ever so slightly, and I squeezed her shoulders tight again.

"Honey, I'm talking about my sexual desires," she said, looking at me seriously. I smiled. I had always known my mother was attracted to men, even at her age, and I knew I was attractive.

"Well I understand, you shouldn't be ashamed over wanting someone, mom--we all feel that way."

"You have a girlfriend, honey, I don't have anyone."

"Well, you could have someone, mom." At that my mom looked away.

"Well, I'm not exactly pretty like I used to be." My mom was silent. I began to rub her back with my right hand, and edged slightly closer to her.

"You're beautiful, mom." I said seriously.

"I guess I am, but I'd rather you didn't say things like that."

"But you are, mom. You're very beautiful."

"Oh, honey, you shouldn't say that."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm your mom, and I shouldn't expect you to say such nice things about me."

"But you *are* beautiful, mom," I insisted. "I mean it. And I would do anything to help you feel better about yourself."

"That's just it, dear, you do more than enough for me, and I love you dearly. You don't have to worry about your old mom."

"But I want you to be happy, mom!" I insisted. "I want to take care of you however I can." At that, I moved my leg close enough that it brushed against my mom. She noticed, and turned slightly flushed.

"Oh honey, you're a sweet young man, and you're girlfriend is lucky to have you."

"But you're important too, mom. You're even more important than my girlfriend, and I want to know how I can make you happy, too!" I said.

My mom sighed, and turned to look at me. I happened to notice her bust pierce ever so gracefully beneath her shirt, and I thought to myself that she was an attractive woman at her age. "Honey, you should go out with some other women. I'm sure there's plenty of girls that would like to meet a man like you."

"I didn't say anything about going out with you mom," I said, smiling. "I mean, I'm more than happy to treat you to a mock, mom-son date, if that would make you feel better."

"Oh you're very sweet, son," my mom said. She turned away dismissively, but I caught a glimpse of a small smile on her face.

"Why not!?" I happily insisted. "I mean, how do you like to be treated? I know how to treat a girl.

"Well..." my mom stalled. "Of course I like to be complimented, but--"

"And you're gorgeous, mom," I interrupted. "I mean, you look great for your age! Have you seen yourself lately?" I made an obvious gesture of looking my mom up and down, and again I couldn't help but notice her bust. For all her façade of solemnity, my mom seemed at least a little flattered by my compliments.

"Well, I'm not a teenager anymore, son."

"No, you're still pretty, mom. And I'm sure you're sexy for your age."

"You shouldn't say that sort of thing, son," my mom said, growing more visibly uncomfortable.

"Sorry. Well, you know what I mean, right? You shouldn't think so badly of yourself when you have no reason to. I mean, how else do you like to be complimented?"

"Honey, I'm not saying you shouldn't say things to me, I'm just telling you to be careful. It's bad enough that you have a girlfriend."

"I know, I know," I said, mock annoyed. "But that doesn't mean I can't support you. So, how else do you like to be complimented?"

"Well, I suppose like to be told I'm pretty--" And again I stopped her.

"You're so pretty mom. Look at how gorgeous your brown eyes are," I said, cupping the left side of her face so gently I almost didn't touch her. "And you look so young for your age!" I let my hand down, but as it did so, it brushed against her right shoulder, and I lightly held her hand on top of her leg.

"Oh honey, you're so sweet."

"I'm not trying to be, mom. But you're very beautiful, and I want you to know that. So how else do you like to be treated well? What do you like?"

"I guess I like to be treated like a lady, and to feel like I'm worth something."

"Okay, I see. How do you feel about sex, mom?"

"Honey! That's really inappropriate to ask!"

"I only asked because I was wondering if you could teach me anything I can apply to my own life! I mean, you've seen a lot in your life. It's not like you talked to me about sex much when I was a kid. And it's not like I hide anything from you, right mom?"

"Okay." My mom said, sternly. "Well..." she began to loosen up a bit. "I haven't been in that situation for awhile. And it's not like I'd just let a man get in that situation straight away--"

"So what would it take?," I asked, my mom looking questioningly at me. "I mean, what kind of stuff do you really like in a guy, to get you to really like him, mom?"

"I don't know, I'm not sure. I like to feel like I'm wanted, I guess."

"And what makes you feel wanted, mom?"

"Well, I like to feel like I'm attractive, and that I'm appreciated."

"I appreciate you, mom!" I said, giving her a peck on the head, and hugging her tighter. "You're very pretty, mom."

"Thank you, dear," my mom said, blushing slightly.

"What else?" I pressed.

"Well, I like to feel like I'm being respected. I like to be treated with respect."

"Like what, mom? Like you're special? I think you're a really special woman, mom."

"I'm sure you do, son. I'm just not used to hearing such nice things."

"Well you really are, mom," I said, gazing into her eyes and squeezing her hand again. I saw her bust moving up and down as she breathed.

"Well, I suppose I'm happy," my mom said. "But I'm not exactly sure why."

"Because I'm so glad you're my mom, mom!" I said, laughing. I kissed her cheek, and then gave her a playful push. I expected her to move away from me, but she gave in slightly and nudged a bit closer to me, her head resting at an angle on my shoulder."

"Your shoulders are getting so bigger," my mom said. Then she quickly squeezed my right bicep and said, smiling, "your arms too!"

"Well if you're complimenting me, mom, it's only fair I say that you're not too shabby looking for your age," I said, laughing.

"Oh, honey," my mom said, giggling, "you can't tell me that."

"But it's true!" I said. I turned to face her, and put my left hand on her thigh. "Why don't I take you on a date, a real date! Let me treat you for one night, mom, you deserve it!"

"You're sweet, honey," she said, her face turning red. "But I can't, I mean, you have a girlfriend already, you don't need practice."

"This is for you, mom. I'm asking you out on a date. Can I take you out on a date?" I asked enthusiastically, moving my face close to hers. If we were in a teen romance movie, that's when we would have kissed.

"I'm not sure," mom said, still embarrassed. "I'm not sure I want to go out."

"Then why don't we just stay in here? It'll be fun, mom. I promise."

"I'm not sure, honey. I'm really not. I'm a little nervous, you know."

"It's okay, mom. I won't force you. But don't you miss being treated well?"

"Yes, I do," my mom said. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

"Well, I was thinking I could make you dinner, we could dress up, we could have some wine--maybe watch a movie here on the couch! How does that sound, mom?"

"Honey, I'm not sure. I'm not sure I can do this."

"I'm not forcing you, mom. You've been through a lot lately, and I'm just trying to help you feel better about yourself. I mean, we've got nothing to lose, time to kill..."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry, I'm being silly."

"No, it's all right, mom. I would never want to hurt you."

"And I know you never would, sweetheart," my mom said. "You don't have to dress up for me, though. Please don't."

"But you'll still dress up for me, right?" I asked, smiling.

"I mean--sure, I guess that would feel nice."

"Okay, then let's do it. I'm going to cook us something, and you can wear whatever you like. It's a date!" I quickly kissed my mom on the cheek, smiled, and stood up in front of her. At that angle, she would be face to face with the bulge in my pants, but she didn't say anything. I saw her glance at it in surprise.

"So, see you downstairs in an hour?" I asked.

"Sure, son," my mom said, smiling.

"And I'm so glad you're my mom, mom!" I said, hugging her from above, my crotch coming dangerously close to her chest and neck.

"Me too, honey."

"I love you mom."

"I love you too, dear," my mom said.

"I'll call you down, mom."

"I'll be waiting." With that, my mom trotted upstairs, while I decided to make some vegan pasta my mom and I could both enjoy. In the meantime, I watched some TV, but my mind wandered to my mom's figure. Sure, she was overweight for her short height, but she had a walker's toned legs, her boobs and butt were nothing to scoff at, and she had a pretty face for her age. Nothing I said had been a lie. My mind kept nagging me back to images of her body as the images on the television raced blindly across my eyes. I recalled a memory from years and years before, as a little kid, when I silently went upstairs as my mom put the shower on, and I remembered seeing her in the bathroom through the open door. Not knowing I was behind her, my mom had bent over to pick something up, revealing her large ass and hairy womanhood to my tender, sensitive gaze. Back then, I had been ashamed at seeing her like that. Now? Not so much.

My attention turned to making dinner. I imagined I'd make a quick salad, a small portion of penne, and get out a glass of red. While I prepped the meal, I continued to think about my mom. An intrusive thought appeared, about how I could turn this situation into a sexual one. I considered what I might do if she offered to have sex with me. I tried to quickly turn my thoughts to something else, but it was no use. I couldn't stop thinking. I used to fantasize about my mom for hours when I was little, and now I was thinking of doing the same thing.

I was trying to focus on the cooking, but my mind still wandered. Eventually, I was done with the dinner. I quickly washed up, dried my hands, and began to plate everything. As I did so, I thought about my mom changing, taking off her clothes to reveal her milky white skin, putting on some attractive and elegant dress. It was then that I noticed my cock had gotten harder. I guess those old childhood thoughts I had had for my mom were only dormant all those years since, not totally gone.

I covered the pot of my homemade pasta, and poured us two glasses of red wine. I grabbed my mom's chair, and placed it right next to mine. To kill time, I sat down and got on my phone, but I began to feel nervous. How would my mom react to all of this? And those thoughts I were having--they were crazy and wrong, right? I had been flirtatious with her earlier because I knew she deserved some attention, especially after her lonely spiel. But how far would this go? I had to admit, the idea of being with my mom sexually excited me. A part of me had always wanted to fuck her since puberty, but I never really believed that would happen. And what about my girlfriend?

I tried to repress all of these conflicting ideas, and I browsed my saved collection of TikTok girls, until I switched to reading the news, and then back to scantily clad gals. Finally I saw that the hour had passed, so I plated up dinner. Right after, I took a deep breath and went to call for my mom.

"Just a minute honey!" I heard her call back. Putting my phone away, I waited with bated breath, until at last I heard her walking down the stairs.

"Hi mom, dinner's rea--" I stopped myself, and tensed up, my mouth opening in surprise. My mom appeared from upstairs with a low-cut, skin beige colored dress. The layered piece wrapped tight around her body, showing off the curves of her hips. Most importantly, it showed off and held up her generous breasts, down to which hung a pearl necklace.

"Wow, mom." I said, stunned with a smile on my face. "You look amazing." She smiled back at me, somewhat embarrassed, but clearly appreciative of my comments.

"Oh you're too sweet, son. Well, I guess I took the date part to heart...you were right about encouraging myself. I'm sure it's nothing like you're used to, though."

"Well then I'm lucky I can brag about having such a drop-dead gorgeous date!" I exclaimed. My hands hovered dangerously close to her sides, and catching myself, I instead took her hand, kissing it, and gazing into her eyes again.

"And anyways, I've always appreciated how beautiful older women are, so don't knock yourself. Now let me show you to our dinner date." I rebuilt my confidence after the initial shock of seeing my mom in such a hot little dress. Turning immediately and leading her on, I couldn't catch her reaction to my comment. I took my mom to her seat.

"Take a seat, mom," I said.

"Oh you're so sweet, honey," mom replied, sitting down. I pushed in her chair and then sat down to my own.

We both began to eat, and I was surprised to see my mom drinking quite a bit of wine. It was almost as if she was trying to get drunk. I decided that I might as well match her, and got more for myself.

"You really look incredible, mom," I told her, my eyes falling to her impressive chest and beautiful pearl set. "I feel bad being so underdressed for such a beautiful woman!" I said jokingly.

"You're already so handsome, sweetheart," my mom said. "You don't have to do more to impress me. I want you to wear what you have on."

"Okay mom. It's nice to hear, especially coming from your pretty lips. So, what did you think of my cooking?"

"It was delicious, dear. I love that I didn't need to cook for us. That is a huge relief!"

"I know, right? I aim to please." I laughed, and she joined. "So, mom, tell me, after a guy's gotten you to agree to a date, how do you like him to treat you once you're on the date?" I winked at my mom.

"Oh, I don't really care, honey. I'd rather he be kind to me, and make me feel good. But I'll take whatever I can get."

"So how do *you* want me to make you feel good, mom?" I said, smiling coyly.

"Honey, I'm not sure I'm comfortable with you talking to me like that."

"But mom, I'm only asking questions. I'm going to try to help you out, so you can enjoy yourself and really let go. You deserve that. And I promise I won't say anything you don't wanna hear. I mean, I wouldn't even bring it up, if I thought you were uncomfortable with me doing this. You know what I mean!"

"You're right honey. I should be able to trust you with my life. I shouldn't be so guarded."

"Why don't you have more wine?" I offered.

"Oh well, I mean--" my mom quietly protested, as I poured her a new glass. She tentatively held onto it, and then sipped.

"That dress looks amazing on you, mom."

"Oh, you're too sweet, son." She smiled back at me, and I could see her cheeks flush. I continued, "You're very beautiful. That dress looks so good on you, and the pearls really compliment you." I then paused, and looked her straight in the eyes. "You're a beautiful woman, mom."

"Thank you, son. I'm glad you think so" my mom replied as she tugged at her necklace, both of us glancing down at her welcoming chest.

"You've been through so much, but you've still managed to keep yourself looking so beautiful, mom."

"Oh, god, you're joking at this point," my mom said smiling. She seemed flushed not just from my compliments, but the wine.

"No, mom, I'm serious. I always knew you had a great body, and I've never seen you look better. I hope you know that." I shared her grin, and I placed my arm on her leg, feeling the fabric of her dress until I slid down to hold onto her bare knee.

"Thanks, honey. I appreciate that. I guess I haven't really shown you my best side, though. I usually wear these clothes to cover up my stomach. I hate showing my belly, so I normally end up covering myself with a sweater or a shirt."

"But mom, it's normal to have a little something at your age! You're an incredibly attractive woman, and any guy would be lucky to spend some time with you. I'm the luckiest guy in the world right now." I stroked my mom's leg and she giggled.

"I know, sweetheart. I know you're a good man, and I think you're handsome, too," my mom grinned sheepishly at me, and she returned my gesture by caressing my arm, not so surreptitiously giving a quick feel of my tricep.

"Actually I think you're a lot more than a 'good' guy, honey," mom said. "I think you're a wonderful, caring, and thoughtful young man. I can see why your girlfriend loves you. I know I love you, honey."

"I love both of you equally," I said. I moved my hand up from my mom's leg, over her shoulder, and I held the left side of her face in my palm, feeling her cheek and her ear as we gazes in each other's eyes. I leaned in closer and whispered, "And I'd do anything to show you how loved you are, mom. Do you realize that?"

"Honey, I don't need to hear that. You already make me feel so good."

"Well then, I want to give you a special treat." And I kissed my mom softly on the lips, pulling back to look at her chest again. She looked surprised, but not taken aback.

"Are you okay, mom?" I asked.