I Love You and Want You, Mom

With my sexual attraction to my son waning and with him no longer there to flash, sexually tease, and incestuously entice, I masturbate much less than I did before. Now when I think of Jason, I think of him as my son and with love instead of thinking of him as my lover and with incestuous, sexual desire. Now the only time that I think of him sexually is when I'm horny enough to masturbate. Even then, most times, instead of masturbating over him, I masturbate over a celebrity or a movie star.

# # #

In the beginning, had I known he was trying to see me naked, I would have been more than embarrassed. I wouldn't have been as obligingly codependent. Denying him the view of seeing anything that he shouldn't see of me, I would have been more careful in what I was wearing and what I was showing. I would have been more than uncomfortable being alone with him. Had I known that he was trying to see me naked, I would have confronted him, had a talk with him about the birds and the bees, and even suggested that he see a psychologist.

Only, horny then as I still am now and in the sexual way that I'm feeling now about my son, I'm the one who needed the mental help. I'm the one who deliberately flashed him, sexually teased him, and incestuously enticed him. My sexual attraction grew once I knew my son was enamored with seeing my naked body. My sexual attraction to my son grew once I knew that he masturbated over me while imagining me naked having sex with me. My sexual attraction grew once I started masturbating over him while thinking of Jason naked and having sex with me.

In had been six, long, sexually frustrating years since I had sex with my son. The only way to quell my incestuous thoughts was to imagine giving him regular hand jobs and blowjobs while rubbing my clit, fingerfucking my pussy, and fingering my nipples. While I masturbated myself, I'd fantasize stroking his cock while sucking his cock. While I masturbated myself, I'd fantasize him making love to me and fucking me while I masturbated myself.

Something that couldn't be denied, I had suddenly developed a strong and overpowering, sexual attraction for my son. With me feeling so very lonely and so very needy, I couldn't sexually remove him from my mind. Every day, I thought of him constantly and continually. Then, with my horniness superseding my modesty and my morality, every time I thought of him spying on me, instead of feeling embarrassed or angry, I became sexually aroused. As much as I wanted him to see more and as much as I wanted to show him more, I wanted to do more than just flashing him.

No longer having motherly thoughts, I knew my incestuous, sexual feelings for my son were wrong and strictly forbidden. Throughout the day, I imagined him naked with a throbbing erection. I imagined him kissing me, French kissing me. I imagined him seeing me naked and touching me, feeling me, and fondling me everywhere he should never touch and feel his mother.

When dreaming about him, swooning over him, I imagined him kissing me and making out with me. Not stopping there in my sexual fantasy of having sex with my son, I imagined him fingering my cunt and licking my cunt while fondling my breasts and fingering my nipples. I imagined him making love to me before fucking me. I imagined myself on my knees and blowing my son while staring up at him with my big, blue eyes as he ejaculated his cum in my mouth.

Just as I knew nothing would ever come of it, I knew those incestuous thoughts were wrong. Yet, they continued controlling my mind. They continued sexually arousing me enough for me to masturbate myself while imagining him naked and having sex with me. As long as I didn't act on my feelings, and as long as I kept my incestuous desires to myself while masturbating, I didn't think my sexual feelings towards my son were wrong but normal.

"Jason, I want you," I'd suddenly say while masturbating myself and when there was no one around to hear me. "Lick my pussy. Eat me, Jason. Make love to me. Fuck your mother. Fuck Mama."

I believed that if I thought it and said it enough times that he'd sexually want me in the way that I sexually wanted him. Only what would I do if he sexually wanted me as much as I sexually wanted him? While imagining having incestuous sex with my son sounded good at the time, yet, unrealistic, it was nothing more than the sick, sexual fantasy of a lonely and mentally disturbed mother to want to have incestuous sex with her son.

If Jason wanted me to have sex with me, would I have incestuous sex with my son? Would I allow him to make out with me while touching and feeling my naked body everywhere? Would I stroke him, suck him, and fuck him? Even though I knew what I was feeling, wanting, and imagining wasn't normal, the only thing I could do and the next best thing to having sex with Jason was to masturbate myself while imagining having sex with my son.

Yet, who could blame me for wanting to have forbidden sex with my son? I was still a child myself when I had him as a baby. I was so young and so emotionally troubled. As he matured into a man, not realizing that he was a horny, young man, I didn't realize that he had been abusing our living arrangements by spying on me and barging in on me while hoping to see me naked. Hoping to see whatever he could see of me, no doubt, to masturbate over later, he always stared at whatever he could see of me while undressing me with his eyes.

Now, forty-four-years-old, and with my son turning 27-years-old today, only seventeen-years-older than my son, now that I'm enlightened with his sudden emergence of sexuality towards me, I was so naïve. Had I known that my son sexually wanted me then, I wondered if I would have done anything different. I wondered if I would have encouraged his perverse, sexual behavior or discouraged it. I wondered if I would have continued to show him all that he was hoping to see of me. I wondered if I would have had incestuous sex with him again.

# # #

With him having a drinking problem and routinely getting drunk, maybe it was my fault the way that he is today. Maybe if I had given him what he sexually wanted, having sex with me more than just that one-time, he would gotten me out of his system and would have been able to get on with his life. Instead of marrying my clone, he may have married a different woman, a woman that he loved instead of finding one who looked like, walked like, talked like, and laughed like his mother.

Maybe from my sexually teasing him and incestuously enticing him, it was my fault that he sexually wanted me. When I sat with my knees parted while wearing a short skirt and with him staring between my legs while hoping to see my panties, perhaps I should have sat more like a lady. Nipping that incestuous behavior in the bud, maybe I should have worn jeans instead of a short skirt.

Instead of walking around him in my short, sheer, low-cut nightgown, perhaps, I should have had the modesty to wear a robe over it. Admittedly, in the way that he was sexually excited to see all that I was showing, I was sexually aroused to know that he was looking. With me his mother and what we were doing was forbiddingly wrong, I should have known better.

In hindsight, with me filled with as much guilt as I am remorse, knowing that now but not stopping me from flashing him again, I shouldn't have flashed my son. I shouldn't have allowed him to sleep in my bed to hold me, hug me, cuddle me, and spoon me while feeling my ass and breasts through my nightgown. Even if it was only one-time, I shouldn't have had sex with my son. Yet, with nothing changed and everything remaining the same, I was willing to have sex with him again as long as he wanted to have sex with me.

'What's wrong with me? Having regrets for flashing him and having sex with him before, nonetheless, I'm ready to flash him and have sex with him again now,' I thought.

Now that I think about it, I must have been driving him mad with lustful thoughts, sexual desires, and incestuous cravings. I only wished I had known the effect that I had on him. Yet, as incorrigible as I am, I wanted to have some sexy fun with him too. A delayed reaction on my part, embarrassed to think that I sexually excited my son then, it still makes me sexually aroused to know now that I did.

Now that I recall, what was I thinking to wear such a sexy nightgown in front of my son. Did I want him to see all that he obviously saw of me? Obviously, I did. Was I sexually teasing him as fodder for me to masturbate over later? Obviously, I was. Clearly, I wanted to have incestuous sex with him as much as he wanted to have incestuous sex with me. Only with neither of us ready to make the next sexual move, neither of us were willing that imaginary, incestuous line.

Yet, looking back at my bad behavior as a woman and as a mother, I was such a whore back then. With me an exhibitionist, willing to flash my body to any man, even my son, I never thought of my son as a man. I never thought he'd be looking and would be sexually aroused by his mother. Once I knew he wanted to see what I was showing, instead of never flashing him again, wanting to flash him again, I sexually teased and incestuous enticed him. I teased and enticed him as much for me as it was for him.

With my nightgown so very transparent, he certainly could see the shape and the size of my big breasts as well as the impressions that my erect nipples made through the thin material. No doubt, with my favorite nightgown so very transparent, he certainly must have seen the dark patch of my pubic hair and the shape of my nearly, naked ass. Now that I remember, with me practically naked, he enjoyed hugging me whenever I was wearing my nightgown. Every time he hugged me, I felt his hand on the top of my nearly, naked ass or on the side of my nearly, naked breast.

Whether deliberately or unintentionally, every time I sat in my short skirt, I flashed him my panties. Every time I sat in my nightgown, I flashed him my naked pussy. Every time I leaned over him when wearing my low-cut blouses, I flashed him my cleavage and my bra. Every time I leaned over him when wearing my low-cut nightgown, I flashed him my naked breasts and my nipples. Admittedly, sometimes my flashing him was deliberately but most times it was innocent.

Now, just thinking about Jason looking at all that I was showing makes me horny. Just thinking about my son sexually wanting me then in the way that I sexually want him now makes me wish I had done more to sexually seduce him. How much worse would he be if I relented and gave him constant and continual sex? Instead of only having sex with him that one-time, I wish I had sex with him dozens of times.

Maybe instead of being worse, he'd be better. Maybe if I gave him all the incestuous sex that he wanted, he'd finally stop sexually lusting over me. Yet, now, worse for a mother to sexually lust over her son than for a son to incestuously lust over his mother, I'm the one who's sexually lusting over him now.

# # #

"I'd give anything for him to kiss me, French kiss me, while feeling my tits, squeezing my ass, and fingering my pussy," I said while touching myself. "I'd give anything to feel his cock, stroke his cock, suck his cock, and fuck his cock. I'd give anything for him to take me, strip me naked, and make love to me before fucking me."

Different now, with me alone, lonely, and horny, I needed a man in my life. I needed sex. I needed to get laid. I needed to stop transferring my sexual feeling to my son and find someone else to love. I needed to stop thinking about having incestuous sex with my son. Yet, I was unable to stop sexually thinking about Jason and wanting to have sex with him.

"I'd give anything to have sex with my son," I said feeling my breasts and fingering my nipples while lying on the couch. "I'd love for him to strip me naked. I'd love him to see me naked. I'd love for him to sexually take me. I'd love for my son to force me while I pretended to resist. Forcing his cock in my mouth to make me suck him before forcing his prick in my pussy to make me fuck him, I'd love for my son to rape me. I'd love for my son to sexually take me. I'd love for my son to give me incestuous sex," I said while waiting for Jason to finally come home.

'Remembering how very many times I flashed him, sometimes without realizing it and other times deliberately when I was horny, I gave him a real, sexy show of my nearly, naked body,' I thought. 'It sexually aroused me to know that whenever I flashed him my nearly, naked body, he was looking, leering, and staring. In the way that I showed him all that he obviously wanted to see, I want to flash him again now,' I thought.

Before he was married, when we were living together as a single mother with her adult son, not realizing that he was always looking, I was oftentimes careless with what he could see of me. It was nothing really big, in the way he sometimes barged in my bedroom without knocking while I was dressing or undressing or barging in the bathroom while I was showering or bathing. It was more the little things I did that obviously showed him all that he wanted to see of me.

While we watched TV with the living room light off, whenever I stood in front of the bright light of the TV, as if being lit up by a group of Paparazzi photographers, he could see right through my sheer nightgown. When I opened the refrigerator door without turning on the kitchen light, he could see right through my thin nightgown. When I pushed open his drapes in the morning, with the sun illuminating me, he clearly could see through my nightgown as if I was naked. I remember him always looking at whatever I was deliberately or inadvertently showing.

He was always watching me, looking at me, and staring at me. He seemingly welcomed any opportunity to see any part of my underwear clad body. He was always as hopeful as he was grateful to see whatever he shouldn't see of my semi-naked or naked body. Obviously, he was as sexually attracted to me as I was sexually attracted to him.

He was such a horny, young man and with women growing hornier as they grow older, I was horny too. His horniness made me sexually aroused. It sexually aroused me that he wanted me. Wanting to sexually tease him and incestuously pleasure him, his voyeurism made me want to be an exhibitionist. I loved showing him my naked body as much as he obviously enjoyed seeing my naked body.

Such a long time, a time before he was dating Tamara, I remember when he was going to the gym regularly and he wanted me to give him a massage whenever he had a sore muscle. At first, I was turned off by the idea of rubbing down my nearly, naked son. I thought of me giving him a massage was his ruse for me to touch him, feel him, and fondle him. I knew what he wanted. He wanted a massage with a happy ending. He wanted a hand job. No doubt, he wanted a blowjob too, if I dared offer him one.

It didn't sexually arouse me the to touch so much of his nearly naked body in the way that it obviously sexually excited him and in the way that it would sexually excite me now. Yet, back then, before I developed strong, incestuous, sexual feelings for my son, him wanting a massage and me giving him a massage was so very innocent, on my part anyway. Yet, as soon as I massaged his back his legs, and his chest, something expected with a testosterone filled, young man, he always developed a big, hard erection.

He'd lay on his bed in just his briefs and I'd massage his back and the back of his legs. Then, as soon as he turned to his back and wanted me to massage his shoulders, chest, and the front of his legs, his erection tented his briefs. As if his penis had a mind of its own, it throbbed and it pulsated. I remember daring myself to touch it, fondle it, and remove him from his underwear to stroke it. Once I saw how big it was and how hard it was, with it pulsating and throbbing as if teasing me, I wanted to stroke him while sucking him.

Instead, pretending not to notice it, yet impossible for me not to see it and stare at it, I imagined his naked cock that night. I imagined wrapping my long, manicured fingers around his hard, erect prick and slowly stroking him. When alone with myself in my bedroom that night, while touching myself, I imagined my son making love to me. With him making me so horny, I imagined sucking my son and fucking my son.

I wanted to give my son what he wanted. I wanted to give him a hand job but I couldn't. I just couldn't give him hand job. How dare I even think of stroking my son's cock? Perhaps, if I had a couple of drinks before I massaged his nearly, naked body, I'd massage his cock. Perhaps, if I had a couple of drinks before I massaged his nearly, naked body, I'd suck his cock too.

Something so shocking, I would have like to make my son cum. Only, with one thing leading to another, every time I massaged him, he'd always be looking for a massage with a happy ending and I'd always be giving him one. From there, it would only be a matter of time before he wanted more. It would only be a matter of time before we'd have sexual intercourse.

"That feels good, Mama. You have great hands," he said. "Whenever you want a massage, I'd be happy to return the favor," he said with a dirty laugh and a sexy look.

'I bet you would, you little pervert,' I thought. 'Yet, who am I kidding, like mother like son, I'm just as perverted as my son.'

In the beginning, never taking him up on his offer of a massage, I always said no. Yet, even though I said no, I imagined my son massaging my nearly naked body. Yet, whenever I refused my son's massage, later that night, while alone in my room and touching myself, I imagined laying on my bed in my bra and panties. I imagined my son touching me, feeling me, and massaging me everywhere a son should never touch, feel, and massage his mother. Then, with one forbidden thing leading to another forbidden thing, I imagined stroking my son's cock while sucking his cock and before fucking his cock.

"Relax Jason," I remember saying while trying to remove the image from my mind of my son giving me a full body, naked massage. "You're so tense."

Only, unable to stop my outrageous, sexual fantasies, I imagined reaching my hand inside his briefs and wrapping my long, manicured fingers around his big, hard cock. I imagined fondling the head of his stiff prick with my fingertips before reaching down to cup his testicles in the palm of my hand. Then, as if I was a whore from Bangkok instead of his mother, I imagined giving him what he wanted, a massage with a happy ending. I imagined stroking him before sucking him. I imagined him cumming in my mouth and me swallowing his cum.

Continuing with a different sexual fantasy, I imagined giving him a full body, naked massage. I imagined pulling off his underwear and seeing his erect, naked cock spring to life. Again, I imagined wrapping my long, manicured fingers around his stiff prick while staring at his swollen dick. I imagined fondling him while stroking him. Then, as soon as he was hard, I imagined taking him in my mouth and sucking him before taking him in my pussy and fucking him.

# # #

Yet, I was the one who was tense, not him. Suddenly, I had the overpowering feeling to inappropriately touch my son in a sexual way. I wanted to feel his cock in my hand, in my mouth, and in my cunt. Whenever I gave him an innocent massage and when he turned to lay on his back, with his erection so big and so hard, I imagined giving him a hand job. I imagined pulling out his cock and stroking him before taking him in my mouth and sucking him. I imagined climbing on top of him and fucking him.

Then, when he complimented me on my hands, making my nipples hard and my pussy wet, I wanted to shock him by showing him not only how really good my hands were but also how really good my mouth was too. I wanted to show my son how only a mother could sexually pleasure her son with her hands, her mouth, and her cunt. I wanted to stroke my son while sucking my son and before fucking my son. I wanted him to cum in my cunt before cumming in my mouth. Yet, every time I had those thoughts, a line that I could never cross, I'd admonish and berate myself for wanting to have sex with him.