"I Love You, Mommy."

"Joey, I want you," I'd suddenly say, when there was no one around to hear me, while thinking that if I thought it and said it enough times that he'd want me, too. Only, what would I do if he did want me? It sounded good at the time, but realistically, it's a sick fantasy for a mother to want her son sexually. It's not normal.

What did I know? Still a child myself, when I had him as a baby, I was so young and emotionally troubled. As he matured, not realizing that my son was a testosterone filled, horny, young man; I didn't realize that he had been abusing our living arrangements hoping to see whatever he could see of me, no doubt, to masturbate over later. Now thirty-nine-years old, only fifteen years older than my son, and now that I'm finally enlightened with this sudden insight of sexuality, I wonder, had I known then what I suspect now, if I would have done anything differently to not only encourage his inappropriate behavior but also to have some fun with it.

Would I have taken more care in how I presented myself in front of him or would I have teased him unmercifully and taken less care and dressed even more provocatively? Would I have worn a bathrobe over my nightgown? Surely, now that I think about it, inadvertently, I must have been driving him mad with lustful thoughts and sexual desires.

Only, I wish I had known the effect that I had on him. I could have had some fun, too. A delayed reaction on my part, embarrassed to think that I excited him then, it makes me excited now to think that I did. Now that I recall, he could certainly see the impressions that my nipples made in the thin fabric of my nightgown, just as he could clearly see my dark patch of pubic hair beneath the nearly transparent, white cotton material.

"I'd give anything for him to suck my tits, now," I said touching myself, while waiting for Joey to finally come home and laying on the couch with the flickering light from the television reflecting the desire that I had for my son.

Without realizing it, oblivious to his horny stares, before he was married and when we were living together, as mother and son, I really must have given him a show of my nakedness, especially when I opened the refrigerator door with my head inside pondering what to make for breakfast. When I stood in front of the windows and opened the curtains to allow in the bright morning light, he must have seen my naked body right through my nightgown. Now that I think of it, he was always there watching me, looking at me, and staring at me. He was ready to use any and every opportunity to see me naked. He was such a horny young man.

Thinking back, I remember those times when he was going to the gym regularly and he wanted me to give him a massage. At first I was turnoff by the idea of rubbing down my son and touching so much of his exposed body, but it was all so very innocent. Only, touching him in that way and seeing and feeling so much of his body excited me.

He still wore his briefs, but I remember now, he always had an erection, an erection that I always wished I could feel and that made me horny to see. Pretending not to see it, impossible not to stare at it, I imagined it that night, when alone with my horny and lonely thoughts. While touching myself and thinking incestuously about my son, I imagined him making love to me.

Surely, I didn't think it was me, who was arousing him, I just thought he was a normal, healthy young man. Admittedly, seeing the bulge in his briefs made me as horny as it did curious, as to what his cock looked like now. Even though I briefly saw it when he whipped it out in front of me to pee, I never had a close, hands-on examination of it. Yet, but for a deep rooted desire to suck him off, I wrestled with my libido to put those sexual thoughts out of my mind. I was his mother, after all, and he was my son.

"That feels so good, Mommy. You have great hands."

"Relax, Joey. You're so tense," I said while thinking, turn over and I'll give you a happy ending.

I imagined reaching my hand inside and surrounding his cock with my fingers. I imagined reaching down and cupping his balls, before slowly and gently stroking my son's cock as only a mother lovingly could. Then, when he was good and hard, when he was so excited that he was wild with passion for me, I'd lower my mouth to his stiff prick and take him in my mouth.

Yet, I was the one who was tense. Suddenly having the overpowering urge to touch my son, I wanted to feel his cock. Whenever I gave him an innocent massage, I imagined reaching down his underwear, pulling out his cock and stroking him, before taking him in my mouth and sucking him off. What's wrong with me?

I wanted to show him what truly great hands I had by reaching inside his briefs, wrapping my fingers around his cock, and giving him a hand job. I wanted to show him how only a mother could pleasure her son by leaning down and giving him a blowjob. Only, every time I thought those thoughts, a line that I could never cross, I'd admonish myself.

Just as I was having inappropriate thoughts about him, thoughts that I dismissed as soon as I had them, I should have known when he wanted to give me a massage that he was having inappropriate thoughts about me, too. I should have turned him down, when he wanted to touch my tired body, but his hands felt so good on my shoulders, back, butt, and legs. I didn't think anything of it, when he seemingly and accidentally touched the side of my breast or came a little too close to my pussy, so close that his hand tickled my pussy hairs, while massaging my thighs. Matter of fact, more than once, when he started massaging my back and legs, he aroused me sexually and I was hoping he'd accidentally touch my breast or brush past my pussy. Always when he left my bedroom, I'd have to masturbate my desire for him away.

"Oh, Joey, that feels so soothing. You're going to put me to sleep."

I remember that I did fall asleep once and if I was sleeping, at the very least, he must have lifted my towel to examine my naked body up close. I imagine he must have touched me, felt my tits, ass, and/or pussy. I'm a sound sleeper and definitely, he could touched me without waking me.

Now that I recall, I remember having a dream that I was being examined by a gynecologist. Now that I think about it, I wonder if that was my son touching me, fondling me, and probing me with his fingers, cock, and/or tongue. It wouldn't be the first time that I slept through sex. Still, the thought that my son may have had his way with me with his fingers, cock or tongue, while I slept should have made me ill but, instead, it gave me goose bumps. The thought of him touching me sexually makes me wish I had been awake to reciprocate what little pleasure he may have received from my sleeping body.

I was wrong to have allowed him to give me a massage, just as I was wrong to allow him to see me with just a small towel covering my butt, while exposing the entire side of my breasts to him. Lying face down on the bed, I didn't invite him in the bedroom, until I had the towel positioned across my butt. Truly, I didn't think he could see anything, but maybe he could and maybe he did. Now that I remember, he was always positioning and repositioning my legs. Oh, my God, I'm such a fool. Every time he moved my legs, I must have flashed him and given him a great view of my pussy. Embarrassed to think of that then, I'm excited to think of that now.

"Relax Mom. I'm just going to move your legs, so that I can work your hamstrings."

Trying to preserve my modesty, I remember now it was always awkward to turn over and to reposition the towel that was on my butt to cover my pussy and to grab a second towel to cover my breasts without having him see anything. He must have seen more than I thought he did. Although it did feel deliciously erotic when he massaged the top of my breasts and the front of my thighs, he must have had a clear view of my pussy beneath the towel.

After he left the room for me to get dressed, I remember getting up from my bed aroused, horny, and frustrated. Wishing he had felt my breasts and fingered my pussy, I always wished his massages were more sexual. Just as he must have felt guilty about having sexual thoughts for his mother; I berated myself for having those same sexual thoughts for my son.

Now that I remember him, he was always walking around with an erection and adjusting himself. Much like the professional baseball players, I just thought it was what guys did, always getting erections and always adjusting themselves. I thought he was always staring at me because being his only family, I was his world and he just loved me, as a son would normally love his mother. I didn't know he was lusting over me, while peeping and trying to see whatever he could see of me, whenever he could see it.

Certainly, even though I entertained the same forbidden thoughts and sexual desires, I never figured, as his Mom, that I was arousing my son. Even though my Mom had three sons, my Mom wasn't around to teach me much of anything, especially how to keep my legs closed. Kicking me out of the house, after I became pregnant, my Mom never met my son or even acknowledged his birth.

Had I known then what I know now, I wonder if I would have played my son and shown him even more for me to sexually take advantage of the situation and to masturbate myself later with the thoughts of having purposely shown him my body? I'm human, too. I had sexual needs, too, that weren't being met, back then. Being a single mother with no extra money to afford a babysitter, having to find odd jobs that I could do from home, I didn't have the time or the inclination to party and few men want to take on a woman with the baggage of another man's child.

Now that I think of it, while wearing my short nightgown and picking up clutter before vacuuming the mess, I remember all those times when, as a teenager, he was lying on the floor playing video games and I was walking around him and by him, without ever wearing panties and without even giving it a thought. And all those times, while playing a game of cards or Scrabble or Monopoly, feeling comfortable in my own apartment, when sitting across from him in my short skirt and never giving a thought if my legs were tightly closed or if I was flashing him my panties, makes me feel uncomfortably excited now. Then, there were all those hugs when I thought nothing of his stray hand touching the side of my breast or the top of my ass, while wishing he'd touch more.

He had a habit of always touching more than he should and more than what was deemed appropriate, whenever hugging me. Only, I never put a sexual spin on his touching. I chastised myself for having those sexual thoughts of wanting him to touch even more of me. Now that I think about it, either he thought I was instigating the sexual attraction or he thought me an oblivious fool. I wish I had known then what I suspect now. Only, I chalked it up to him being emotionally needy. I figured it was my fault that he was like the way he was because he didn't have a dad. I blamed everything on myself and on the mistakes that I made so early in life.

All that time, he must have been looking up my nightgown and when I bent down to pick up his strewn clothes, I must have given him the perfect down nightgown view of my boobs. It never occurred to me that I was giving my son a show and giving him fodder to jerk off over later in the privacy of his bedroom or bathroom. Incest is such a wicked thought that even thinking about it now, so many years later, should make me sick, but it doesn't. It makes me excited to think that my son wanted me, his mother.

Certainly, if I knew he had incestuous thoughts about me then, I would have been upset. Now, it not only makes me dizzy with desire but also gives me a bellyache with the trepidation of knowing that I'm thinking about doing something so wickedly wrong with my son now. I'm so horny that if he was here now, I'd show him how I truly feel about him. I'd suck his cock.

"Joey? Where are you? Come home to Mommy. Mommy wants to blow you."

The thought of him dying in a car crash without me ever telling him how I truly felt about him, made me sick. I told myself that if he were to come home safely, I'd tell him how about the sexual thoughts that I felt for him with the hope that I could ease his guilt for having those same sexual thoughts for me. Now, that we're older, maybe he'd want to act out those sexual thoughts with me, as a way to remove them once and for all. Who am I kidding? I just want to sexually take advantage of my son now, in the way that he sexually took advantage of me, back then.

What's wrong with me for having sexual thoughts for my son? We all have sexual desires. We're all just human. Who else would I want to have sex with other than my son? Every man I've known has always taken advantage of me. Every man I've know has fucked me over after fucking me.

Now to realize that even my son was abusing me by using me to see what he could of my body is as shocking as it is exciting. Every man I ever dated, after the birth of Joey, just wanted a blowjob. I was always so horny that I'd accommodate him hoping that he'd date me again, but he never did. It wasn't that I was ugly or gave bad blowjobs; they just didn't want to have the responsibility of a woman with a child, especially a child that wasn't theirs.

After meeting his wife, Patty, and seeing how much she resembled me, it was more than disconcerting that, while my son was having sexual relations with his wife, he was possibly thinking of having sexual relations with me, his mother. How could he not, Patty and I look so much alike. Living alone and being lonely for so long, now that I had this suspicion of his secret desire for wanting incestuously forbidden sex with his mother, it was no stretch for me to imagine my son having sexual relations with his wife, while imagining that he was having sexual relations with me.

I couldn't help but wonder what he looked like naked. I couldn't help but wonder how his cock felt in my hand and what it tasted like in my mouth. It made me wet to think about his face buried between my thighs with his tongue flicking out to lick my pussy, while his fingers played with my clit and finger fucked me to orgasm. I wondered what it felt like to have his cock buried deep inside my pussy, while he kissed me, French kissed me, before leaning down to suck my tits.

"That's right, Joey, lick Mommy's pussy. Fuck me, son. Stick your big, hard cock in my tight, wet pussy and fuck Mommy. And after you make Mommy cum, Mommy will suck your cock and make you cum in her mouth. Mommy will swallow all that you have to give her."

He had gone out drinking with the boys again and, as usual, but for me and the children, Patty was home alone and unable to reach him to tell him that I had arrived early to celebrate his birthday and was there taking the kids trick or treating. Out of necessity, she had gotten a job at the deli slicing cold cuts for people who shouldn't be eating salty slabs of sliced meat. I was fortunate to have a job that I worked from home and it didn't matter where I called home. All I needed was a computer and my cell phone, which is how I was able to pack up and stay with them over the Halloween weekend.

They were having a difficult time financially and she needed to get a job, until he was able to find employment. The unemployment checks were soon to run out and weren't nearly enough to live off of anyway. Like his father, Joey was too proud to work at anything he felt was beneath him. Like his father, he had the need to drink and difficulty in knowing when he had drunk enough. Before finding a job, he needed to stop drinking.

Somehow making him feel like the man that he wasn't, the husband he hadn't been, and the father he was never shown how to be, he'd rather spend his time networking at the local bar with the rest of the loser barflies, than to spend quality time with his wife and kids or dedicating his free time to focus on looking for a job that paid enough to support his family. Only, having known his father, I understood the fallacies and frailties of my son.

His dad deserted us when Joey was still a baby. He has no memory of ever having a father. It was just me and Joey. Where I was too young and too immature to help his Dad, having my baby at barely 15-years-old, I knew that I was the only one who could help save my son from himself and from the fate of alcoholism that befell his father.

I was still up watching television, but turned it off, when I heard his key in the front door lock. I heard him cursing because he probably couldn't see straight enough to find the hole, something his father had no trouble finding, before making me pregnant, even when he had too much to drink. Trying to be quiet, but being the noisy drunk that he couldn't help but to be, not even turning on a light to see what he was doing, he thought he was alone.

He didn't know I was laying on the couch in the dark living room. Had he turned on a light, he would have seen me laying there with my housecoat raised above my waist, while pretending that I was sleeping. Hoping he'd turn on the light, I was horny and I wanted to show my body to him, for old time sake. I wondered what he would have done seeing my pussy in plain sight. I wondered if seeing his mother's pussy would make him horny enough to look at me, touch me, lick or fuck me.

Only without turning on a light, he didn't even know I was there. I was hoping that he'd sit on the couch where I was lying and then realize that I was there with my housecoat all askew. Maybe he'd think I was Patty. Maybe he'd know it was me, but pretend it was Patty. Maybe he'd fondle me, as I pretended to sleep.

Too hot for a blanket and without the aid of even a fan, it had been an unusual hot October day and it was stuffy in the house. With the weather more like Indian summer, I was hot not only from the outside temperature, but for him. Knowing he was standing there in the dark living room, not more than a few feet from me, I continued pretending to be asleep on the couch, while watching him.

He and Patty couldn't even afford to buy an air conditioner and that was what I decided I'd buy Joey for his birthday. With the end of season sales, it was a good time to buy one. At least they'd have a unit for the summer next year. Only, I needed his help to carry it from the store to the car and from the car to the house. I was hoping he'd go with me yesterday to pick one up, but he never made it home in time for his birthday to do that.

As I lay there watching my son fumbling around without ever turning on a light, I pretended, fantasized actually, that I was his wife and he was my husband. The thought of him coming home to me made me touch myself. Suddenly, I was horny again. Hidden within the dark, with my housecoat already askew, hoping he'd turn on the light to watch me masturbate, I reached down and fingered my pussy. Instantly, I was wet with the thoughts of him seeing me and touching me. My fingers found my nipples though the thin cotton material of my housecoat and I was already on my way to cumming.

Aroused and horny, suddenly, I was hot for him. Desperately, I needed to get laid. It had been a long while, since I felt the passion of a man. Here, just a few feet from me, was the man who I was attracted to and the man that I'd do anything for, even have sex with him. It no longer mattered that I was his mother and he was my son. We were adults now with free wills.

I needed to feel a cock in my hand. I needed to feel his lips pressed against mine. I needed to feel his body, while his cock humped my pussy. I needed to feel the stiff sensation, the fishy smell, and the salty taste of his cock in my mouth.

"Happy Birthday, Joey," I wanted to yell out my birthday surprise, before showing him my lust for him, but I stayed quiet while watching his movements in the dark. I wanted to give myself to him as my birthday gift to him. Would he reject me or embrace me? Would I totally embarrass myself? Would I ruin the close knit relationship we had?