Gwendolyn: A Tale of Motherly Lust

Gwendolyn:

(The Bad Behavior of a Green-Eyed Girl)

Eager to start my weekend, I leave early from work on a Friday afternoon. The drive home isn't horrible, traffic flows well and within twenty minutes, I park my SUV upon the concrete apron of my pleasant, suburban home.

Normally, of course, I park in the garage, but my vehicle, it seems, needs a good bath, I haven't washed it in a couple months and the words, "wash me" anonymously finger-scrawled within the accumulated grime, I think to be a good indicator the time has come to give it a proper cleansing.

The weather is rather warm for early summer and the sky is a clear blue. Opening the door to my home I step inside to feel the cool atmosphere provided by the air conditioner upon my skin. Relishing it, I smile wide. Right at the door, I kick off my heels and drop my purse to the floor.

I'm in a good mood, a wonderful mood really. I'm home for a three-day-weekend, I've a date scheduled for later tonight and in the morning, I'll drive to pick up my son from college and share the long summer with him.

Unbuttoning my white blouse as I walk along the hallway, I happen to see the door to my husband's den is slightly ajar. The small room has not been opened in two years, since the day my husband died in it. Concerned and wary of an intruder, I peer inside with trepidation. To my utmost surprise, I see the face of my son, Jacob, sitting behind my late husband's desk.

Surprised, yet happy to see him, my initial thought is to call him from the room and properly greet him with a flurry motherly hugs and kisses. But, when I see the look upon his face, I stymie the thought.

My son's expression is intense, as he peers to a laptop once belonging to my husband. A series of guttural utterances from him resonate in my ears. Instinctively, my hand goes to my mouth, stifling my gasp. Oh, my God, he's jerking off—masturbating.

Though I cannot see my son's cock in hand, I notice the rapid movement of his upper arm and the intensity of purpose culminating in the expression upon his youthful face.

I've seen the expression before, but upon the face of his father. As I watch for mere seconds, Jacob's mouth falls open and he groans aloud. My son's blue eyes, the shape of them inherited from his father, close as he pleasures himself to an orgasm.

"Ahh!" he groans,"ahh...uh!"

Feeling my face flush with embarrassment, I swiftly move on, passing the door, I stealthily make my way upstairs. As I near my bedroom, the lusty resonance of Jacob's pleasured groans fade from my ears. I swallow hard, knowing my son's orgasm has abated.

Once in my bedroom, I close the door and sit on the bed, feeling altogether amused, perplexed and concerned by what I'd just seen and heard. Finally, I simply shrug my shoulders and continue to peel off my unbuttoned top. "Oh well, boys will do what boys do."

Removing the rest of my office attire, I take my time changing into clothing bound to get soaked washing the car. I don't want to embarrass Jacob, and so, I give him plenty of opportunity to recover from his masturbatory activities.

I bide my time, primping in the mirror before pulling on a pair of blue jean shorts and purple bikini top. Presumably with enough time given, I leave my bedroom and barefoot, descend the staircase, even as I bind my long tassels within a hair clip.

Downstairs, I look about, and see Jacob beyond the far end of the hall, in the kitchen, scouring the fridge for food. I cannot help but smirk. He's just come and now he's hungry—just like his father, typical.

"Hi mom," Jacob calls to me.

"Oh, hi sweetie, when did you get in? I thought I was picking you up tomorrow."

"Eh, a couple hours ago, Marko dropped me off; I'd have called to let you know I was on my way but my cell phone is dead—forgot my charger at school."

Smiling, I enter the kitchen. "Well, it's okay—saves me a trip."

Coming to my son, I open my arms to embrace him, half of a leftover sandwich held in the same hand he was masturbating with only minutes ago. With his free arm, lean and muscular, Jacob hugs me in return, pulling me tight with his youthful strength.

"I missed you, mom, it's good to be home."

"I missed you too, sweetie, now we've the whole summer together," I smile.

Breaking the embrace, Jacob bites into the sandwich, takes a can of soda from the fridge and closes it with his foot. "So—," the boy says, chewing his food, "—what ya doing half dressed, were you heading to the beach or something?"

Even as Jacob sits at the kitchen table, I thumb toward the front door, my ample chest jiggling as I do so. "No, I'm going to wash the car; it needs it—wanna help?"

Jake shakes his head and takes a slurp from the soda can. "Not really, but I will."

Smart assed as ever, the young man offers me the same devious smirk I know, oh, so well.

I grin in return and nod toward the door. "Well, you're ole mom would appreciate it."

"You're not old, mom, and you still look great in a bikini—well, half of one anyway."

To the rare compliment, I cannot help but blush a little.

Consuming the last bit of his sandwich, Jacob, well-mannered as ever, guzzles the remainder of his soda all at once and expels a horrendous belch.

"Jacob!"

"Sorry, mom, I'll mind my manners—my roommates are just a bad influence on me, I think."

"Yes, I'm sure they're the cause."

The boy stands from the table and exiting the kitchen, makes his way toward the stairs, leaving his mess for me to clean. "I'm just gonna go change, be with you in a few minutes."

"All right," I call back as I drop the empty can into the recycling bin and scoop breadcrumbs into the palm of my hand, discarding them into the garbage. A mother's job, it seems, is never done. I'd hate to see what your apartment looks like, Jacob.

Brushing off my hands, I make for the hallway once more and notice the door to my deceased husband's office is still ajar. Knowing Jacob is upstairs, I peer in and see my husband's desk, and the laptop, still open on it. For a lingering moment I look to the door knob, reaching for it with the intent of sealing the door. As my painted finger tips touch the metal, however, I stay my hand, my curiosity now piqued. It's been two years now, Gwen, time to move on.

Opening the door, I step inside, my green eyes closed, nostrils flaring with emotion, lips trembling, as I slowly exhale a few deep breaths. Gradually, I allow my eyes to open. The bright sun, beams though the pale window curtains. Two walls are lined with bookshelves of dark wood, with many of the tomes upon them, written by my husband.

Various pictures hang about the walls of the room, pictures I'd not seen in two years—captured moments of cheerful times. Pictures of Jacob...of me...and of the man I loved. All of them are treasured mementos of family—of us.

Struggling to stifle my tears, I finally manage it. I'm weary of crying and I wish this day to be a happy one. I feel it still will be if I simply leave this little room.

But my curiosity, seemingly, knows no bounds and as I walk behind the desk, I see a box of tissue paper upon it and a couple sheets crumpled in the waste paper basket aside the desk, both of them having absorbed the residue of my son's lust.

Shaking my head, I frown. The boy still has a bedroom here; I don't know why he couldn't just play with himself in there instead of his father's office.

Both curious and somewhat concerned over the psyche of my son, I notice the laptop is still on and with a touch of my fingers, the seventeen inch screen brightens to vibrant color.

As far as I knew, my husband hid little to nothing from me including the password to his laptop which over the years, never changed; my name—Gwendolyn. I type the letters and within seconds, full access to the laptop is given. It takes me but moments to see the most recently accessed files and know when they were last viewed.

"Seven of them viewed today, pictures and a video, the rest accessed years ago—those are just Hugh's old book files," I mutter aloud.

With a double tap of my finger, I access the most recent file, most likely the one my son was viewing while pleasuring himself to orgasm. My eyes gape as the laptop initiates its picture viewer, producing the nude photo of a woman in mid copulation, her eyes gazing lustfully to the one taking the photo...his thick cock buried deep within her bared loins.

The woman's long hair is tossed from the throes of passion, her half-smiling lips expressing both pleasure and desire as she cups a large breast in one hand and with the other, braces firm against a headboard.

With a gasp, my hand once more reaches to cover my mouth—the woman in the picture, in all the pictures...is me.

Gwendolyn: Part II

Pictures of the past haunt me; my mind—my entire being stunned by the realization my son...my beloved son, Jacob, pleasured himself to orgasm viewing photographs of me having sex with his father...my late husband.

Drawing a deep breath, I allow myself a lingering moment to emotionally absorb this unexpected realization. Once more, I glance through the lurid pictures upon the laptop screen, making certain I'm not delusional. A great part of me wishes I were.

The pictures, of course, are indeed of me --- naked, legs splayed, having sex...likely one of the last times I had sex with Hugh before he unexpectedly died.

My initial thought is to expunge the pictures from the laptop altogether, but I don't...I'm uncertain as to why. Having seen enough of my own flesh on display, I close the picture viewer and lower the screen-lid of the computer.

With the accumulation of high emotions, my eyes begin to well—my psyche running a gauntlet of churning feelings. A single tear falls from my eye and I swiftly attempt to stifle the flow of more. I have to get out of here, out of this damned room.

Regarding my current emotional state, the room itself is the greatest factor...at least, I think. My husband's study; the room he spent much of his life within. In retrospect, it seemed as though Hugh was as much married to this room as he was to me. So many of his hours spent here, writing books, editing manuscript...earning a living. It's also the same room in which I came home to find him dead.

Exiting, I step into the hallway, leaving the door to the study slightly ajar, just as Jacob had left it earlier. I doubt my son would even notice if the door was closed or not. But I don't want him to suspect I've been in his father's study and know he masturbated while viewing my nude photographs. After all, I want our summer together to be perfect, fun and not overshadowed from the start by a singular, silly thing.

Immediately, I begin to I feel better, it's as if an emotional burden has been lifted from my spirit and, though I don't feel altogether happy about what my son has done, the emotional stab I experienced over being the forbidden object of his lust seems far diminished. Young men jerk off, it's not that big-a-deal, Gwen, just let it go.

Barefoot, I continue to walk out the front door, with the intent of giving my car a good wash. The brilliant sun engulfs my body in warmth as I step into the light and punch in the security code to the garage door. With the noise of moving wheels and gears, the garage door gradually opens and from within, I gather the necessities to wash my vehicle.

Having filled a plastic pail with soapy water, I've just begun to wet the surface of the SUV with the garden hose, when Jacob comes outside to assist me—his lean, muscular body wearing nothing but swim trunks and dark sun glasses. As always, my son offers me a smile making my heart melt.

"Ah, just in time to do all the scrubbing," I smirk.

"Oh, really, can I?" the boy sarcastically retorts.

From the pail, Jacob takes up a long-handled scrub brush and begins to wash the car. Soapy bubbles abound and I follow just behind, rinsing away grime, dirt and residue. Misty droplets glisten upon Jacob's skin, the light of the sun, further bathing him in spectrum as water-spray, strikes the surface of both young man and vehicle. Jacob lifts his sunglasses so I may witness the full glare of his naked eyes upon me.

"You're gonna soak me by the end of all this aren't you?"

Again, I smirk, "well, of course."

"Heh," Jacob shakes his head and resumes the laborious scrubbing, and as he does, I cannot help but further notice his musculature as droplets gather, sliding as thin trickles along his shoulders and back. With a flick of my wrist, I spray the boy with the garden hose.

"Ah! That's frik'n cold, mom!"

"Oh, my, gosh, is it? I'm sooo sorry. Though, you're probably in need of a good, cold shower, anyway."

I completely slipped up, the mild innuendo having spewed from my mouth, I immediately regret the words. I don't want to give Jacob any indication I am aware of his masturbatory activities.

To my relief, my son heeds my misspoken words in a more innocent context.

"Yeah, it's definitely hot out today," He replies.

Again, the boy resumes washing the vehicle and I allow him to do so unhindered. Yet, as the last spot of grime is cleansed, I smile, wickedly-wide, and douse Jacob with a continuous water spray, fully soaking him from head to toe.

"Oh, you're gonna get it now, Mom!" The boy bolts for me, I scream a laugh and dropping the hose, I run, full speed along the side of the house and into the back yard. The sliding glass door in sight and my sanctuary just beyond, I am nearly there when I am literally scooped off my feet from behind. Laughing, legs kicking as I playfully plead for mercy, Jacob carries me to the swimming pool and with seemingly little effort tosses me into it.

A cool sensation engulfs me; splashing, I rise to the surface wiping chlorinated water from my eyes as I sputter a laugh, "all right, all right, heh, you win, son!"

I can hear Jacob laughing too, but as I wipe my blurred vision clear, I see the boy is staring at me; his cute face, so much like his father's, bright red with a curious expression.

"Uh, Mom?" Jacob nods.

I know before I even look. "Oops." Breast exposed, I cup my fleshy orb, squeeze-tucking it back into my soaked bikini top. I look to the boy, expressing an awkward grin; he's still red-faced as I wade in my cut-off's to the pool ladder. "Sorry sweetie, though I'm sure you've seen a breast or two by now."

Jacob offers but a shrug in answer, yet I know he has seen my breasts on display not an hour ago, vividly textured upon the screen of a laptop. As I ascend, dripping from the swimming pool, a part of me feels a growing notion within, the rising eroticism, a nuance of arousal, a naughty satisfaction, rooted in the knowledge my son has seen my breasts, and—he likes them.

Without further words, Jacob and I enter our home; he heads to the downstairs bathroom, while I ascend the staircase toward the master bath, pool water, dripping along my long legs as I rise upon the steps.

As I enter my bedroom, I seal the door, intent on showering and readying myself for my scheduled, evening date. I'm not one step further from the door knob when I stop, turn and consider. After a moment of contemplation, I turn the knob again, allowing the door to sway open just a little. Maybe Jacob will sneak a peek at me.

Feeling silly, I shake my head over my tepidly taboo feelings and carry onward to the master bath. You've just been too long without a man, Gwen; you're starved for attention, that's all.

With this mindset, I step into the master bath, disrobe and prepare myself for the evening to come.

****

Humid air clouds the master bathroom, moisture; hazing the full-body-mirror, hanging upon a wall within. The bathroom fan hums, unable to keep pace with the amount of steam I've allowed to accumulate within the room, yet, it whirls on in the attempt.

"Mmph!" I utter a muffled cry, standing as I am, in the dual-headed shower, one leg; splayed, my back, pressed firm to the wet, tiled wall.

Hair, drenched, a steaming rain pours upon my body, my skin; pink from the hot touch of the pounding water. Snaky lines of the clear liquid, trickle over my breasts, dripping from the stiff peaks of my soaking nipples. "Mmph!" I again groan, my fingers desperately gripping to the soap shelf.

Eyes closed, I guide the silvery shower head further between my legs, while the other, residing high and across from me, sprays a torrent from above. Within my clenched hand, the emitter-head, pulse-spurts as I run it along my bare pussy, tease-tickling my clit with pleasurable jets of watery warmth. "Mm."

I shut my eyes as I feel my self-pleasuring efforts slowly begin to bear fruit, but rather abruptly, the water runs cold, and my hot, wet pussy feels as if doused by the stab of ice water. "Ah! God damn it, Jacob!"

The boy's started the dish washer or else the laundry—most likely the latter, as I've never known him to clean a dish. I'm not at all a plumber, but I do know that there's never been enough hot water in this house.

"Damn it!"

My skin; overly sensitive from my admittedly lengthy shower, shrivels and so robbed of the soothing flow of hot water, I feel the stinging cold, gnaw upon my groin and legs.

Annoyed, I scramble, the soles of my feet immersed in frigid water, as I shut the shower off altogether. Goose bumps upon my chest and legs, I exit the shower, towel dry and naked, proceed to ready myself for my upcoming date.

Over the next hour I style my hair, put on makeup and perfume and clad myself in sexy undergarments—sheer and black. I spend time picking out jewelry and a dress, deciding on a little black one with a low neckline.

A little time later, jiggling cleavage abounds as I descend the staircase, high heels on my feet, and the sweet fragrance of perfume about my body.

Fixing a dangling earring to my lobe, I call out for my son. "Jacob, I'm going out sweetie, I'll probably be home late."

Dry but still shirtless, Jacob appears in the hallway, wearing sweat pants, cereal bowl in hand, actively spooning soggy corn flakes into his mouth as he comes to see me off. "All right Mom, I might still be up when yo—holy shit!"

The boy looks to me as if suddenly a dunce, droplets of milk, wet, upon his dropped jaw. "Oh, my god, mom, you look, gorgeous."

I can't help but smile from the compliment, because for the first time in a long time, I truly feel gorgeous as well.

"Thanks, honey—zip me up?"

Turning, I offer my back to the boy, nearly the entirety of it bared; he sets the cereal bowl upon the foyer table and draws near. Lifting my long tassels, I half turn, smiling as I feel Jacob's finger tips touch the small of my back. Slowly, the zipper slides upward, closing my dress. My hair falls into place and I turn again to face Jacob, looking down into his adorable eyes.

As I stand there, it occurs to me in my heels I stand a few inches above the young man and it has been a good many years since I held any height advantage over him. In some base way I can't explain, the height difference makes me feel all the more motherly toward him. With a smile, I tousle Jacob's thick hair and put a kiss to his dimpled cheek, leaving a bit of lipstick smudge upon it.

"Thanks, sweetie. I'll see you in the morning, if not tonight, okay? Don't forget to take your bowl into the kitchen."