I Love You, Need You & Want You, Ma

Carefully climbing on the bed, he was careful not to awaken her when slowly and gently mounting her. He reached between his legs and parted his mother's pussy with his erect prick. Ever so slowly humping her, he made love to his mother as if he was making love to the Virgin Mary. Then, as if she was preprogrammed to do so, she opened her eyes. When he imagined his mother opening her eyes, instead of rejecting him in horror, he imagined her wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist and consensually agreeing to having sex with him.

Now that she was conscious and consensual with him, she returned his humps with her humps. Fucking her as if she was a whore in the image Jesus' lover, Mary Magdalene, he imagined pounding his mother's pussy until she had an orgasm. With her tubes tied and her no longer able to become pregnant, he imagined pounding his mother's cunt until he ejaculated a huge load of cum in her pussy.

'Happy Valentine's Day, Mom,' he imagined saying after giving her sexual satisfaction by giving her incestuous, orgasmic pleasure with his erect prick.

After imagining fucking her, he imagined her giving him a deep, wet kiss. After imagining fucking her, he imagined her giving him a blowjob. After imagining fucking her, he imagined making her his woman. After imagining having sex with his mother that first time, he imagined having sex with her all the time.

'Happy Valentine's Day, Robert. You've made your mother so very happy,' he imagined his mother saying.

* * * * *

### SusanJillParker -- 11 ###

Flashing panties versus flashing pantyhose

* * * * *

"Cheer up, Mom," he said. The sound of her sweet, imagined voice brought him back to reality from his sexual fantasy of putting his mother to bed, stripping her naked, and having sex with her naked body. His sexual daydream vaporized before his incestuous, horny eyes. "It's Valentine's Day. The day of love. Happy Valentine's Day, Mother," he said again.

He walked to her and leaned down to give her another peck of a kiss on the lips, the lips that he imagined parting with his tongue to kiss her deep, wet, and long. He couldn't stop himself from imagining French kissing his mother. He couldn't stop himself from imagining his mother returning his kiss of sexual passion with her kiss of sexual passion. He couldn't help from imagining his mother sucking his prick with those same, full lips.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Robert," she said returning his peck.

He gave her a loving smile while trying his best to hide the sexual lust that he had for her.

"As I was saying, we're both healthy and relatively happy," he said esoterically speaking as if he really believed what he was saying when he was just as sad as his mother. "You have a good job and I'll be getting a good job soon. Having much to be thankful for, we have more money than the average person out there who's struggling to put food on the table," he said.

He said what he said for the benefit of himself too while trying to get her to realize her blessings and forget her bad memories.

"You're right. I know you're right," she said. "Blindsided that he'd want such a young, slutty girl over me, it's the rejection that hurts the most."

He gave her a comforting smile.

"I refuse to allow Dad to ruin another holiday with his child bride, whore of a wife," he said shaking his head and laughing. "It's hard to wrap my brain around that my ex-girlfriend is now my step-mother."

While sitting across from her, he hoped she'd give him another up-skirt flash of her bright white, sheer, bikini panties or a down-blouse view of her long line of sexy cleavage and her revealing, low-cut bra. He loved seeing forbidden peeks of his mother's underwear. With his mother feeling so glum, he didn't even feel guilty for wanting to take sexual advantage of her by seeing some part of her sexy, underwear clad body. It was all about incestuous sex with him. If he couldn't have sex with his mother, seeing glimpses of her underwear to masturbate over it later, erased his horniness and eased his sexual frustration.

Still horny after his mother caught him masturbating and watched him cum while staring at his cock, he needed to have more sexy images of his mother to masturbate over later. If nothing more than a sexual fantasy that he'd surely masturbate over again, with him having hope beyond hope to have a sexual relationship with his mother, he imagined his mother inviting him to sleep with her. He imagined touching and feeling his mother in places where he should never touch and feel his mother as she slept. With her nightgown bunched around her waist, he imagined peeling down her covers at first light and seeing more of his mother's sexy, shapely body than he ever had before.

In the forbidden way that Susan invited her son, Charlie, to sleep with her in the story, Mother Sleeps with Son on Christmas, he hoped his mother would invite him to sleep with her too. On the pretense of holding her, comforting her, cuddling her, and spooning her, he imagined touching and feeling her through the sexy nightgown he gave her for Valentine's Day. He hoped to make his own incestuous, love story an even better story, called Mother Sleeps with Son on Valentine's Day. Only, nothing more than another one of his sexual fantasies, just as he knew she'd never have sex with him, she'd never invite him to sleep with her.

Difficult for him to curb the sexual lust that he had for his mother, he stared down at what she was showing of her sexy, shapely legs. He was glad that she wore more short skirts than she did pants. With her swimming and still playing tennis every week, proud of her legs, she had the legs of a dancer. She could dance for him any day, as long as she was dancing around a pole while removing her clothes. How hot would that be to have a mother who was a stripper?

With blue her favorite color, she was wearing his favorite, short skirt, the powder blue one that parted at the bottom even when completely buttoned. Even when completely buttoned, when she stood and leaned forward, he could still see her panties peeking out at him in between her buttonholes. Calling this skirt her panty flashing skirt, his favorite skirt, this skirt gave him the best chance of him seeing her panties.

'Peek-a-boo,' he thought whenever seeing a flash of her white panties. 'Peek-a-boo,' he thought while wishing he had the nerve to reach his finger in between her open button holes and finger her pussy through her exposed panties. 'Peek-a-boo,' he imagined saying while fingering his mother's pussy.

Even with her knees tightly cemented together, there was still a triangular opening above the top of her shapely thighs that, unless she crossed her legs, gave him a continual view of her panty clad crotch. As much as he loved seeing flashes of his mother's panties, he loved seeing her panty clad crotch more. He loved seeing quick glimpses of her camel toe, her pussy slit, and the darker shadow that her blonde, trimmed, pubic hair made through her sheer panties. No doubt imagining more than he was seeing while undressing her with his eyes, he had a good sense of that his mother looked like without her clothes.

Every time she wore this skirt, she rewarded him white, attention grabbing, flashes of her panties. Every time she flashed him her panties, she made him so horny. He wondered if she knew he could see her panties. Every time she flashed him her panties, he wanted to finger and lick her pussy through her panties. Being that she flashed him her panties so very much, he wondered if she deliberately flashed him her panties. Like mother like son, he wondered if his mother was an incestuous exhibitionist in the way that he was an incestuous voyeur.

'How hot would that be if his mother was purposely flashing him bits and pieces of her underwear clad body?'

He wished his mother was his sexy slut. He wished his mother was his incestuous whore. He wished his mother sexually wanted him in the way he sexually wanted her. He wished his mother would put the sexual moves on him in the way that he'd love to put the sexual moves on her.

As if the couch was complicit in helping her flash him her panties, whenever she sat on the couch in this skirt, her hem climbed to the middle of her shapely thighs. His favorite view to see, she always showed him a lot of her gorgeous legs. She made him wish he could slide a slow, purposeful hand up her short skirt. She made him wish he could touch, feel, and lick his mother's legs before licking her higher and licking her pussy through her panties.

'How hot would that be to touch and finger my mother where I'm not allowed to touch and finger my mother?'

As much as he loved her big breasts and her shapely buttocks, he loved her shapely legs too. Nothing more than a sexual fantasy, he wished he could move his hand all the way up her short skirt and in-between her legs to nirvana. He wished he could finger his mother through her panties while kissing her. He wished he could push her panties aside with his index finger and rub his mother's clit while finger fucking her pussy.

Earlier, before flashing him her panties, from the panty line that he saw when she was leaning at the waist to stoke the fire, she was wearing panties, just panties. 'Praise the Lord,' he was glad that she wasn't wearing pantyhose. Unless she was wearing nude, sheer pantyhose without panties that showed her pubic hair, pantyhose prevented her from flashing him her panties. He hated pantyhose.

He had a much better chance of her flashing him her panties when she wasn't wearing pantyhose. Someone should flog and then strangle the gay, fashion designer who invented pantyhose with pantyhose. Someone should force him to wear pantyhose. He was glad his mother would rather put tanning lotion on her legs than to wear pantyhose in the winter. If it was too cold, she'd just wear pants. Yet, fortunately for him, whenever she was in the house, she almost always wore a short skirt.

'Pantyhose? What in the Hell were you thinking? What in the Hell is wrong with you? Are you nuts? Are you insane? Have you utterly lost your mind? Unless she's an older woman with varicose veins, putting pantyhose on shapely legs to cover a panty clad pussy is sacrilegiously un-American,' he imagined saying to the inventor of pantyhose. 'Shame on you! Shame on you! Take that and that,' he imagined horny, American men flogging gay, fashion designers with pantyhose.

In violation of the Mile-High Club, there should be a law that woman cannot board a plane while wearing pantyhose.

"Sorry, Miss," Robert imagined a TSA agent saying. "Unless your 50-50, 50-years-old and 50-pounds overweight, you must remove your pantyhose before boarding the plane. Pantyhose offends too many horny men who live and breathe in hopes of seeing your panties."

He imagined women reaching beneath their short skirts to remove their pantyhose right there in pubic.

"Sorry, sorry," he imagined women voicing their apologies to men who live and die to see flashes of panty clad pussies.

* * * * *

### SusanJillParker -- 12 ###

Robert wishes he was his mother's lover in addition to being her son.

* * * * *

Hopefully losing her inhibitions while drinking, he hoped that if she drank enough wine that she'd forget where she was, who she was with, and would part her knees more with her inebriated morals, lessened modesty, and relaxed sexual inhibitions. Giving him more to masturbate over later, he'd love nothing more than to see a constant and continual, up-skirt, flashing view of his mother's bright white, sheer, panty clad crotch. Giving him plenty to masturbate over later, he hoped that she'd lean over him to give him a continual down blouse view of her long, sexy line of cleavage and her low-cut bra.

Fortunately for him, with her not thinking that he'd be lusting over her, she was comfortable and immorally, immodest enough around him to not always sit like a lady. Fortunately for him, with her not as careful as she should be around him, in the way she would be with any other man, she was always inadvertently flashing him up-skirt peeks of her panties and down-blouse views of her bra and cleavage. Fortunately for him, that is until now that she caught and watched him masturbating, and heard him call her name, she obviously didn't suspect that he was as sexually attracted to and was masturbating over her until now.

After catching him masturbating over her and hearing him calling out his incestuous lust for her, she obviously knows his sexual attraction to her now. He'd love for her to catch him masturbating again. He'd love for her to watch him cum while calling out her name. Oddly enough, until his father was no longer around, perhaps because he had more sexual opportunities while in college, he wasn't as sexually attracted to his mother before as he was now. Once his father wasn't there to invade upon his private time with her and interfere with his sexual feeling for her, his incestuous lust grew in the way of a wildfire.

It wasn't until his father left his mother for a woman half her age that Robert appreciated his mother more. It wasn't until his father left his mother for his ex-girlfriend that Robert felt and commiserated with her pain. With them always laughing and whispering as if they kept secrets, now that his father was gone, he grew even closer to his mother. Now that his father wasn't around passing his judgment and his disapproval on him and on her, he had more sexual opportunities to hopefully enjoy his mother in all manner of undress.

With him having no other woman in his life but his MILF of a mother, his sexual thoughts more forbiddingly turned to her than to anyone else. Especially when she was inadvertently or deliberately flashing him her cleavage, bra, and/or panties, his mind was sexually focused on his mother. Especially when he was masturbating while imagining seeing her in her sexy nightgowns, her bra and panties, topless, and/or naked while having sex with her, he thought of no one else but her.

"Sorry for my sadness. Don't mind me. I don't want to ruin your holiday, Robert," she said staring at the fire that burned brightly in the fireplace before returning her focused attention to him. "Back before we were married and before you were born, most of my Valentine's Days were with your father. Our day of love, we exchanged romantic gifts on Valentine's Day before having a night of intimacy," she said letting out a long, soulful sigh. "I can't help it but, having known him for thirty-years, I still miss him."

As if she was suddenly cold, she wrapped her hands around her wineglass as if it was a coffee mug or a mug of hot cocoa and she was sitting in a ski lodge. In the sexy way that she looked so sadly vulnerable, if she was any woman other than his mother, he'd take her in his arms, hold her, hug her, and comfort her. Wishing he could kiss her while touching and feeling her through her clothes, he suddenly had this urge to French kiss his mother in the way that he kissed her in his sexual fantasies.

He wondered what she'd do if he tried to really kiss her. He wondered what she'd say if he tried parting her lips to French kiss her. He wondered what her reaction would be to him touching and feeling her through her clothes while French kissing her. Yet, not wanting to ruin things between them, it was titillating fun to see up-skirt peeks of his mother's panties and down-blouse views of his mother's cleavage and bra.

"I don't miss Dad in the way that you do. With him always drunk and angry, he wasn't very nice to you or to me. I'm glad he's gone," said Robert for more than one reason.

Obviously, Robert wasn't just glad that his father was gone because he was always drunk, angry, and mean to him and his mother. He was glad that his father was gone because now he had his mother all to himself. In the way that his father deserted the love of a forty-eight-year-old woman for the sexual infatuation of a young, twenty-four-year-old whore, after more than twenty-five-years of marriage, not enough man for her, his father didn't deserve his mother.

"He was more than just my husband. Your father was my best friend, my lover, and my life," she said looking as if she was about to cry. "Difficult for me not to accept some of the blame for our divorce, he was a good man before he started drinking and cheating on me."

Robert looked at his mother aghast that she was blaming herself for her husband leaving her.

"I don't understand how you can blame yourself for Dad's drinking and screwing around," said Robert. "Obviously, his head was turned by a younger woman, a whore. His leaving you for her had nothing to do with you. You need to stop blaming yourself for his perversion and for his drunkenness," he said while thinking about his own incestuous perversion in wanting to have sex with his mother.

With her chin up as if she was suddenly proud of him, Elizabeth smiled at her son.

"Thank you for understanding," said Elizabeth. "Not very good for my self-confidence when the love of my life leaves me for a woman half my age, how could I compete with her? There was no way that I could. Moreover I didn't share his love for drinking. Yet, sadly and admittedly, I'm drinking more now than I ever did before, especially around the holidays but that's my cross to bear," she said lamenting her sadness while admitting her sudden fondness for French red, wine and Californian, white wine.

With him so physically dependent upon her, he wondered if his mother was feeling as emotional connected to him as he was now feeling emotionally connect to her. Now that Jessica is gone and he's home alone with his mother, he'd gladly chose his 48-year-old mother over his 24-year-old ex-girlfriend. A bizarre occurrence, it was odd that Jessica was sexually attracted to his father in the way that he was sexually attracted to his mother. Yet, had she not left him for his Dad, he may not have realized the incestuous lust that he felt for his mother.

"I'll always be here for you, Mother," said Robert.

She leaned forward in her seat on the couch and reached out her hand to take his hand.

"You may be here for me now but you won't be here for me very long once some lucky woman makes you her man," she said pausing as if thinking better of what she was about to say. "Even though you're my man now, Valentine's Day isn't the same without a man in my bed."

'Wow,' he thought. 'I'm her man.'

He had never thought of it in that way before. He was her man now, his mother's man. Only, with him wishing he was the man in her bed, he couldn't help but to question the meaning of her remark. What did she mean by that? When she connected those two phrases together, you're my man and her needing a man in her bed, was there more to her saying that he was her man and that she needed a man in her bed? In addition to being her son, could he be her man, the man in her bed too? Unable to read her mind, he didn't know.

He imagined being in bed with his mother. He imagined his mother in bed with him. He imagined being in bed naked with his mother. He imagined his mother in bed naked with him. He imagined making out with his mother when they were both naked and sucking her big, naked tits.

'Naked, naked, naked,' whenever he thought of his mother now, he thought of her naked. 'Naked, naked, naked,' whenever he thought of his naked mother, he thought of him being naked with her too.

Touching and feeling her everywhere, he imagined having sex with his mother. He imagined licking and fingering her pussy and her sucking his cock. Sex, sex, and more sex, he imagined having sex with his naked mother. He imagined making love to his mother before fucking his mother. He imagined really pounding her pussy until she screamed his name in orgasmic pleasure.