How My Mother Met You

Author's Note: This story is not a simple happy incest story, so, at the risk of spoiling things, please bear the following in mind when deciding if you want to read it. 1) This is more of a taboo story than an incest story -- there is no actual blood-relation sex in it, so go elsewhere if that's what you are looking for. 2) People can and do say no to things that they might say yes to in other stories on this board. 3) I wrote two endings to this, a 'blue' ending and a 'yellow' ending. I went with the 'yellow' ending in the end as I thought it fit the characters and mood better, though it should be fairly obvious what the 'blue' ending was when you get there. 4) I'm currently planning a full incest based story, so it's not something I'm against, this story just ended up being different. With all the said, enjoy and please comment and rate.

1.

"It's not as easy to find a girlfriend as you think," Paul found himself saying. He'd had a bet with his sister that their mother would ask about his love-life in the car on the way to the restaurant. Technically his sister had won; the question had only come as they were stepping into the restaurant, but only because the current state of his hair had warranted a fifteen-minute monologue. He would have to maintain later, out of pure sibling rivalry, that the hair and dating were part of the same conversation, his mother having clearly alluded to the positive results a smart haircut could bring in her non-stop harangue. He'd still have to pay up though because in the end it was the yes or no question they'd agreed on. In answering this inevitable question, he usually tried to bend a 'not really' into a 'almost yes', but this time he'd had no option except to shamefully go with a flat 'no'. That never ended well with her.

"Table for three, Richards, we booked a room," his mother. They'd booked the best Chinese restaurant in Grimsby for her birthday. The manager confirmed the booking and indicated for a waitress to show them the way. Paul was relieved, a table for three meant no fucking Roy. His mother knew he refuse to eat with any of her boyfriends, Roy most of all, but he'd still been worried that she'd try to make an issue out of it and invite Roy anyway. It wouldn't have been the first time. She was still lambing it up though, even for a birthday meal with her children: low cut top, leather skirt, red heels, all the mutton was on display. He hated the way she dressed these days, not least of all because it reminded him of how she had become a completely different person after the divorce.

"Well, Marcy never has any problems finding a man. Quite the opposite, in fact. She needs to thin the herd down a little if you ask me" she said.

Now it was Marcy's turn to roll her eyes. Paul would have welcomed her calling out their mother's hypocrisy, but she didn't respond further. Probably smart, as it would go easier on her if the conversation remained on her brother's lack of notches rather than counting up which of the mother-daughter pair had the most themselves.

"Mum, it's different for girls," Paul continued, "With all the modern dating apps, its fairly easy for a girl to get a date if they're not too worried about commitment. It's not so easy for guys. At least the average ones like me."

As they climbed the restaurant stairs, Marcy looked back at him. "Don't tell me you've been on those incel websites?"

"I don't know what that is," his mother interrupted, "Are those the dirty ones?". Paul noticed that waitress was trying to supress a laugh. He'd kind of been hoping she only spoke Chinese. Damn, he thought, why do my female relatives always have to do this to me in public.

"I'm not an incel," he said and then, because he could feel the response already on his sister's tongue. "Ok, well maybe I am technically involuntarily celibate, but I'm not saying I hate women, I'm just saying it's more difficult for men."

The waitress showed them into a small side room. Thank God, thought Paul, at least now my humiliation can continue privately. He was paying for this meal and he'd insisted on getting the private room. Ostensibly because it was his mother's birthday and he wanted to push the boat out, but mainly because he'd eaten with his mother before and didn't want his humiliation to become the usual freak-show for the rest of the room.

"You always overthink things," his mother said. "I bet you'd have a girl in no time with a bit of effort." She turned to look at the waitress and checked her name tag. "Now, Lisa, here, let me ask you a question. If my son came up to you in a bar and asked to buy you a drink, you'd say yes wouldn't you? I mean, if he smartened himself up and had a bit of confidence."

"Maybe, sure" the waitress said with a giggle. Paul hadn't really looked at her properly when they came in. The restaurant tended to dress their employees the same and, while they were mostly thin, attractive, university-age girls they did become a bit interchangeable as a result. They all wore the traditional figure hugging black Cheongsam dress and had their long hair tied up neatly in a bun. Now that she was smiling, he realized that she was very pretty. She had a round, slightly chubby face but was still quite petite, except for her breasts which were large relative to her frame.

"Mum, don't put her on the spot. This is a classy restaurant," Paul found himself saying. He never knew how to interpret the various smiles he got from girls: flirting, teasing, pity, disgust. He was pretty sure they were mostly disgust. She was only agreeing because his mother was pretty difficult to say no to, especially if you were in a service position, surely.

"See, this is why. You get an opening, immediately you try to slam it shot. You could have a phone number and a date for the cinema by now with a bit of gumption," his mother continued. Marcy pulled out her phone and started checking it intensely. Nice, leaving me out to dry, thought Paul.

"Mum, I'm not hitting on the staff during your birthday meal," he said.

"I don't know why. You finally getting a girl would be the best present a mother could have. Well, the best present would be wedding bells, no, a pram with a grandchild in it. Huh, a mother can dream. To think, by the time we're were your age, Trevor and I were married, had Marcy and you were well on the way. I've got to pin all my hopes on Marcy, though with the kind of men she's been dating, I'm likely to get the pram before the bells. Heaven knows."

Marcy hadn't responded to the speech except to start to type faster. She got what she was looking for just in time. "Wong Kar-wai retrospective at the Odeon tomorrow night," she said. "In the Mood for Love," she said in an annoying sing-song voice.

"I don't know what that is," said their mother automatically. She didn't like things she didn't know about. They stopped her dominating the conversation.

"She's probably working," said Paul, chivalrously giving the waitress an easy out.

"No, I'm not," Lisa said.

The answer didn't give Paul any clear indication of her feelings. He suspected she was just pouring more oil on the conversation to watch it burn. Some women were like that. His mother continued, "Well, there you go. You see, ask her. It'll be like shooting fish in a barrel, no offense Lisa."

"Anyway, why are you assuming that this lady wants to watch a Chinese movie just because she works in a Chinese restaurant. Maybe she wants to see the new Marvel movie instead? Did you ever think about that?" Paul shot back, nominally at Marcy, but really to deflect his mother's comments.

"Well I don't know," said Marcy, "If only there was a quick and easy way for you to find out the opinions of someone in the same room as you."

It turned out the freak-show was getting an audience of one. Lisa, as though loathe to interrupt, put her hand up. "Excuse me, I have some questions," she said. Far from being a native Chinese speaker, he noted she had a broad Humberside accent, probably second generation at least.

"Oh, good, let's order." said Paul quickly, hoping that's what she meant.

"No, silly, I'm sure she meant questions about you." said his mother, "Fire away." Great, now Lisa was going to asking her directly instead of him. Not that his mother wouldn't have jumped in straight away to answer all the questions anyway.

"Is your son the kind of guy who spends all day playing video games and ignoring the needs of his girlfriend?" It was, thought Paul, not a particularly promising first question.

Surprisingly, Marcy fielded this one, "Yes, but it's okay. He's such a gigantic nerd he doesn't just play video games, he makes them. Which I know sounds incredibly dorky, but turns out he's going to be a millionaire off it."

Paul immediately corrected her. "I do not make games and I'm not going to be a millionaire. I work for a start-up that has some patents on ray-tracing algorithms which might be lucrative if say PlayStation or Xbox decide to include them in their next consoles, which is by no means certain and would be about seven years away even if they did." He realized he hadn't really addressed the 'her needs' part of the question. He decided to ignore them.

His answer seemed to be satisfy Lisa. At the very least, she seemed glad he didn't continue in any further technical detail. His mother, having been cut out of the conversation earlier, had to jump in now. "My son is very smart. PhD from Oxford University. I always tell him he should lead with that. Sure, it's not a twelve-inch penis, but it's gotta count for something with the girls, right?"

"So, let me be clear about this, you're saying your son doesn't have a twelve-inch penis?" Lisa mimicked taking notes on her order notepad. Fortunately for Paul, his mother was laughing so hard she didn't respond further. He updated his estimate to at least third generation.

"Ok, moving on," Lisa continued. "Question two. How large of an anime collection do you have?"

This was an easy one and Paul hit a homerun. "I had Spirited Away on DVD as a kid, but I lent it to Marcy here about nine years ago and still haven't gotten it back. Apart from that, nada." Marcy was going to dispute the accusation of theft but thought better of it. Paul was relived. The two questions had skirted nicely around his game collection which contained certain Japanese titles Lisa might not have been all that fond of, but he'd been fortunate with her phrasing and been able to answer honestly.

"Ok, third and final question. Are you one of those creepy guys who only hit on Asian women because of some, like, weird fetish?"

Paul was now getting a bit annoyed by this line of questioning, so his answer, while still solid, was a little tetchier than it could have been. "I think the best way of answering that is for everyone to very carefully note that I am, in fact, not currently hitting on you. Although I can sympathize with the confusion."

"So, you don't want to take me to the cinema tomorrow night?" she said teasingly.

"I didn't say that." He kind of had, but hadn't really meant to.

"Great. Pick me up at seven. Marvel movie is fine. I'll go get some menus then you can order." She wrote her number on her notepad, ripped it of theatrically and put in on Paul's plate before leaving the room.

Paul's mum sat back in her chair. "You see, that wasn't so difficult."

2.

Three months later and Paul was banging Lisa on the couch in her flat. 'Banging' was not his choice of word. Lisa had a very clear categorization of acts they engaged in. Last night they had made love, tonight he was banging her. He still needed some training, because, if left to his own devices, he may have ended up merely 'fucking' her and that wouldn't do one little bit. Lisa was leaving nothing to chance though. She'd done her hair in pigtails that he'd been instructed he must hold on to at all times, and donned a sailor-style schoolgirl's outfit for their evening meal and entertainment. They were of course doing it in doggy position, as a good bang couldn't be done any other way. With each thrust she let out a little exclamation in Japanese.

"Yamete. Yamete kudasai. Onii-chan. Ookii na. Kimochi. Dame desu." She didn't have a large vocabulary, but that was fine as Paul knew no Japanese at all. Some of the phrases did seem a little familiar from his old porn JAV folder, the one he'd strenuously been denying existed since the start of the relationship. Lisa was managing to wring every ounce of meaning from the words she did know, screaming them in that highly stylized falsetto common from Japanese porn. Paul didn't know whether to laugh or cum. It was weird, since the start of their relationship she'd been adamant about not letting her Asian heritage be fetishized in anyway. Then out of the blue tonight she'd announced that she was going to show him how her, allegedly creepy, ex-boyfriend liked to bang.

The relationship had proceeded from first date, to first kiss to first fuck to last night's first raw fuck with impressive speed and smoothness. They simply liked each other. It had been Lisa's suggestion not to use a condom. She wanted them to feel closer. Paul had never made love without one before. Despite what his mother knew, he'd had his share of hook-ups before and even some off-an-on relationships, just nothing ever quite making the 'meet your mother' or 'boning raw' standard. He'd set the bar for meeting his mother pretty high, for sure, as he didn't want to scare them off. It was good that Lisa had already met her, he thought. That made it much easier. They even seemed to like each other which was surprising but good he supposed.

He gave her ass a level three slap. Early on in the relationship she'd lay down on the bed and, with some experimentation, laid down some important ground rules. A level one slap was general purpose, suitable as a show of affection for when he passed her in the hallway, kitchen or bathroom, but otherwise not good for much else. Level two was for foreplay, to get the blood flowing before eating her out. Level three was for as basic encouraging slap during sex -- the 'giddy-up' as it was more widely known. Level four should be saved for only when either he or she was cumming and in any case used only once per night. Level five was deemed too hard and would be classified as abuse and the basis for legal action if he ever used it in action. Having a system made it easier to set appropriate boundaries, she said.

He'd been holding each pig-tail separately, but now he gathered them both up in the same hand and pushed her face down into the leather of the sofa. "Shut up, bitch. I'm about to cum," he growled. She'd struggle to breathe down there but he was nearing the end now. He'd never spoken to any of his previous girlfriends this way, but again they'd had a discussion about language early on in their dating and she'd outlined her theory of 'Dickens' words; those words that it was acceptable to use if and only if his dick was inside her at the time: bitch, slut, cum-dump. There were also those words that were never acceptable in any circumstances. She wasn't a whore and never wanted to be called one. He could refer to her cunt, but never to her as a cunt. Most importantly, she never wanted any language, no matter how tame, that fetishized her Chinese (or more generally Asian) heritage. Paul had stuck to these rules religiously, knowing a good thing when he saw one, and he was quite confused about why tonight she had suddenly decided it was time for an impromptu hentai performance.

She asked him about what words she could and couldn't use with him, but he hadn't really been able to think of anything either way, so they were going to circle back to that in a few weeks' time. She had called him 'pencil dick' during one of her frequent exhortations to be fucked harder, which he hadn't much cared for, but since, seconds later, he'd made her cum so hard she'd squirted all over the bedsheets, he'd decided to let it slide.

He now pushed her ass down, bringing her legs closer together. They'd discovered early on that the best was to get her to cum was to finish with her legs tightly together. Strangely this either had never quite clicked with a previous partner or else it was something unique to being fucked by Paul. Either way, as long as he'd put in the hard work at the beginning of the bang, after a certain point, he could pretty reliably make her cum whenever he wanted. It gave him a certain power that he'd never had in a relationship before.

As he came inside her, his whole body was on top of her. On the third spasm, he hit her ass hard with a full level 4. That set her off as well. There was something joyous about being able to just cum all inside your lover rather than it all collecting in the end of the condom. It felt like you have full ownership of her body. She was his completely.

They lay there for a moment and then got cleaned up.

"That was wild," said Paul. "You really did that with your ex all the time? I thought you hated it, why did you suddenly decide to show me?"

"You've been a good boy," Lisa said "Besides, with Tony it felt like it was only the fetish he was after. He wanted to do me that way every single time. I wondered if it would be different with you."

"And was it?" Paul enquired.

"Sure. You were trying not to laugh the whole way through." she said. "Don't get your hopes up. You get to objectify me for once your birthday, infantilize me once at Christmas, and you can play out your oriental fetishes over Golden Week. The rest of the year, I want you to treat like a real woman."

"I don't have any oriental fetishes," Paul said quickly. "Despite your best efforts to create some."

They finished the clean-up and Lisa offered for Paul to join her in the shower, but he said he'd take on in the morning before leaving to go back to Oxford. They'd been banging, fucking, and making love all weekend and he'd already lost count of the number of pre and post-sex showers he'd had. He went to relax in bed and surfed the Internet while he waited. It was funny, he thought, people never surfed the Internet anymore, they all tended to stick to three or four main sites they visited every day. He was surfing now though; he had been vaguely wondering if all this classification of everything meant she was on the near side of the spectrum, or whether it was just a personality trait. Nothing he read was particularly enlightening though.

Unusually, once she finished her shower, she didn't come back into the bedroom to dry off and get dressed again. Instead he heard the hairdryer running from the bathroom and, even after it stopped, she took an unusually long amount of time.

Paul reflected on how lucky she was. Lisa fucked like she had something to prove and she was deeply kinky. The amount of time she spent organizing sex was a bit weird though. They only had weekends together, but she spent an inordinate amount of time either planning or talking about their physical activities during the week. Hence the word lists or the classification of the different ways of doing things. She'd given him required reading -- books about how to please a woman, or just stories she found exotic. They'd made rules about sex (or rather they had conversations that guided him gently towards the rules she'd already worked out). They were exclusive, of course, and it was expected they would masturbate during the others week long absence, but she'd decided that he was only to wank to porn she provided. Each week had a theme and he was expected to provide mini-oral reviews when they met. She'd leave a USB thumb drive by his bed-side before she left each weekend filled with videos. The theme often played into something they would do together the next weekend. For example, this week had been Japanese porn with a focus on cream pies.