Jake's Progress

I slipped on a summery skirt and plain white panties, topping these off with another strappy t-shirt. I had, after all, nothing to worry about...

My calm, clear, logical thinking was troubled slightly by a soft fluttering deep within my belly as I recalled the sensation of my skirt riding so high last night and Jake's hands coming perilously close to touching areas that should have been strictly out of bounds. In fact, the more I thought about those particular aspects of the previous evening's wrestling session, the more the fluttering intensified.

It reached a point where I had to admit to myself that I my body -- if not my mind -- had responded to what had happened and that, like it or not, I had felt excitement on many levels. At first I put this down to the lack of any sexual activity for almost a year (a very forgettable three weeks with an understandably single guy), but even as I tried to reason it away like that, I knew deep down that this was not the reason.

After a long time debating all of the possibilities, I came to the conclusion that my reaction had either been as a result of the fact that a male -- any male -- had almost seen more of me than was seemly (I have an occasional but mostly latent exhibitionist streak), or that it was the taboo nature of any such activity that had triggered something primal within me.

Nothing else seemed to fit -- and believe me I tried a dozen more explanations -- and I decided that my only recourse was some serious research.

Glad that Jake was still out somewhere (and trying not to think too much of how his mind was working things through this morning) I switched on my computer and began to search for sites specialising in such matters.

An hour later I was overwhelmed by the wealth of information there was available on the subject -- and not a little alarmed at just how widespread it seemed to be. The sites seemed to fall into three main categories: it's all perfectly natural and happens to quite a large percentage of young men and a lesser percentage of their mothers -- the cause being, yada yada, or, it's a cardinal sin and you will rot in hell for all of eternity, or, if we only admitted it more freely it would be far more widespread and even acceptable.

Categories one and three were, of course, the most well-reasoned and, whether I liked it or not, believable.

I switched my attentions to a couple of chat rooms after that to see if there was anyone else out there in the ether with the same thoughts or feelings.

A simple request for opinions on a popular chat site that encouraged a more sexual band of followers brought more responses than I could possibly handle -- but those few that I did chat to were in total agreement that the mother-son thing was not only acceptable, but downright fantastic.

I'm not so dumb that I didn't realise that many of the respondents were fantasy chasers and nor did I ignore the fact anyone visiting such a site was in there for any sexual thrill they could get -- but there were a couple of other mothers on there who struck me as genuine.

I eventually logged out of there with a sense of shock and a strange feeling of relief. Part of me was clearly coming to terms with my reaction to Jake's actions, and another part of me was beginning to understand that it was only society's modern rules that had given such activities the bad reputation that they now had.

Okay, so there were obviously limits, and I made my mind up right there and then that whatever happened in the future would go no further than maybe a brief peek at my panties or down my top, and maybe one or two 'accidental' slips of the hand -- but that was fine and innocent enough.

It would help Jake overcome the frustrations of his teenage hormone rush, and if I got a few fantasies out of it for later use, where was the harm in that?.

I let out a laugh when I realised what I was proposing to myself -- what, in effect, I was admitting. Another laugh followed when I realised that I was setting a lot of store in knowing what had been on Jake's mind when we had wrestled. Despite my fervid imaginings, there was a possibility that he had been acting in all innocence and that his body's reaction was nothing to do with me as such, and simply a matter of basic biology.

The more I thought about that, the more relaxed I became -- and the more determined to find out one way or the other. The last thing I wanted to do was make life at home awkward for either of us, and especially not so for Jake in his last few weeks before leaving for university.

By four o'clock Jake had still not made an appearance, and I was beginning to suspect that he was deliberately avoiding me -- something that could only mean that the previous evening's activities had not been completely innocent. I wasn't sure whether this supposition made finding out what was on his mind more or less difficult, but in any case I was finding it impossible to come up with some sort of plan that would make things clear for me.

I had ruled out being too obvious in trying to attract his attention, and even 'accidental' flashing seemed to me to be too blatant. The last thing I wanted was for him to end up feeling a ton of guilt for how he felt about me, and nor did I want whatever had happened the previous night to come between us (so to speak).

The only thing I had decided was that when he eventually came home I would be just as friendly and chatty as usual and pretend that nothing untoward had happened. It seemed like it was just as well that I was dressed in pretty much the same way as the night before, because that way he would assume that I was still relaxed enough to wear such things around him.

Now all I needed was for him to come home!

He eventually called me a little after eight o'clock and opened with a very tentative 'Er, hi, ma'.

"Hi yourself, you little stop out. I can't begin to tell you how wonderfully peaceful the place has been for a Saturday."

"It... has?"

"Delightfully so. In fact if you don't get yourself home soon, I'm thinking of changing the locks."

My light-hearted banter seemed to relax him at once, "You've... had a nice day then?"

"Yep. I've been doing a ton of research and I'm delighted with the results," I told him, honestly, "And I've also been doing a ton of cooking, so if you're hungry I suggest you get your butt in gear and head for home."

"Um, well, okay then. Now you come to mention it I am starving a bit."

"Starving a bit? So much for the private education..."

After a little more squabbling he rang off and I started to prepare one of his favourite suppers (not the favourite, obviously -- I didn't want him to be suspicious) -- and Jake finally showed his face half an hour later.

He was as cautious at first face to face with me as he had been when he had called earlier, but by the time he was shovelling home-made burgers down his throat, he was as relaxed as usual.

After supper we watched a film that was mercifully free of any sex scenes, and we chatted just as we would any evening. The remote control lay on the settee between us throughout the film, and Jake never came within a foot of me. It was a comfortable couple of hours -- even if it told me nothing about what I really wanted to know.

Jake turned in just after eleven and I sat awhile downstairs after he had gone up, wondering if I hadn't just imagined everything after all. A half hour of fruitless wonderings later, I gave a sudden deep yawn and realised that for once I was genuinely tired and ready for sleep.

For years I had been prone to insomnia and I took pills to help me sleep every night without fail -- but for once I didn't think I'd need them. The day's excitements -- and the relentless hours of research and deep thought had done more than a couple of little white pills could ever hope to achieve. I headed for my bed barely able to keep my eyes open.

I managed to take off my skirt and swap the strappy t-shirt for an old, baggy one that served as a nightgown, and clambered gratefully under the sheet. As my head sunk into the pillow, my last waking thought was 'you do realise that you still don't have a clue how you're going to find out what Jake is really thinking?'. I grunted 'of course' to myself and closed my eyes.

At first I thought it was another one of those disturbing dreams. I was alone in a warm, soft bed, resting easily. It was dark in the room in which the bed rested, and quiet, as peaceful as could be. But there was a feeling washing over me. A knowledge that, despite the lack of senses to prove anything, there was another presence within that dark room.

In my dream I feigned continued sleep, my ears hoping to catch the slightest noise, my eyes staying shut to continue the pretence of sleep. I held my breath and waited, unsure whether the presence was a threat or not. For long seconds I stayed that may -- until a floorboard gave the softest of creaks.

The sound was familiar -- a sound I'd heard a hundred times before -- and for the first time, I realised that maybe I wasn't dreaming, that maybe I was really awake. In either case I kept my eyes closed and gently let out my breath. Maybe it was a burglar and the last thing I wanted to do was scare him... but no.... whoever it was had been standing there for ages -- not the actions of a burglar. Which meant....

Since there was only me and Jake living there, it didn't exactly take long to find the solution, but it took a few seconds more before I managed to work out what it could mean. Jake was standing in my room. Jake had undergone a sexual episode with me very recently. So Jake wanted what? A proper look at me?

The thought sent a (fairly) unexpected tremor of excitement through me -- until I realised it was pitch dark in my room. Another tremor followed when I realised that he might want to touch instead...

I dismissed that notion pretty quickly as well. Although Jake thought that I was in a chemically-induced state of unconsciousness, to actually touch me would be extremely daring, and Jake wasn't so bold. Surely....?

With a start, I realised that he'd moved to the side of the bed. Obviously I could, and maybe should, just wake up and ask what was going on, but there again, I was desperate to find out whether Jake was really interested in me as more than just a mother, and didn't this situation provide the perfect opportunity? I knew there were probably more holes in this theory than in all of the colanders downstairs in the kitchen, but in my sleep-befuddled state, I didn't care. Plus there was that ever-increasing sensation of excitement going on.

Even in the total darkness of my room I could sense Jake's every move and I allowed my breathing to return to a deep, even rhythm -- my best impression of sleep-breathing -- as Jake knelt beside the bed.

I had calculated that Jake would not have the nerve to actually touch me, and a soft click, followed by a gentle glow perceived through my firmly closed eyelids supported that conclusion: Jake had brought a flashlight with him.

The glow also served to answer another question -- Jake was definitely here for some sort of look and that, surely, was proof of his interest in me?

If I had harboured any doubts about the effect that all of this was having on me, they were dispelled when I felt the edge of the sheet being gently lifted from my upper body and carefully pulled down the bed. The relatively cool air washed over my thin t-shirt and my exposed legs, sending a shiver of pure excitement deep into my groin.

Through my close eyelids, I could make out movement of the light as Jake was no doubt trailing it over my recumbent form. Laying there I felt so terribly, wonderfully exposed -- vulnerable and yet safe at the same time. Jake was clearly feeling some sort of excitement as well to judge by the way his rate of breathing increased, the air almost hissing through his lips.

For long seconds there was no other sound, and no movement at all. I started to think that the episode was coming to an end, content that I had my answer, when Jake took a deeper breath -- and then held it in.

My heart leapt into my throat and its rate soared as I felt fingertips touch the left-hand shoulder strap of the old, baggy t-shirt. My heart-rate increased to an almost alarming tempo as, fraction by fraction, Jake began to pull the strap down my arm.

I could feel every single millimetre of flesh as it became exposed -- feel the edge of the material work its way oh-so slowly down the top of my left breast. Even if I had wanted to 'wake up', my body had other ideas and my brain wasn't far behind. Would my lovely, handsome young boy actually expose me? I had to find out -- just had to.

My nipples were rigid and more sensitive than I could remember them being, and it was with a mixture of shock and delight that I could feel a dampness at my groin.

As Jake's rate of progress slowed when the edge of the material approached my aureole I was genuinely surprised by my level of... well... disappointment. The realisation of what I was thinking caused me to take an involuntary sharper breath, my breasts rising higher, the material slipping just that fraction further.

Jake froze and I quickly made my breathing return to the deeper rhythms of earlier. I could feel his fingers trembling ever so slightly, but at least he hadn't pulled away. Clearly he was used to this routine and the understanding sent another wave of excitement through me.

His fingers eased the front of the t-shirt down another couple of millimetres and I was sure that he would now be able to make out the dark-pink crescent of the top of my left nipple, the very thought threatening to have me whimpering. I almost did whimper when his fingers released the material -- but as soon as I felt them tug the shoulder strap gently lower down my arm I was glad that I had resisted.

As I felt his grip return to the front of my t-shirt I experienced a moment of panic as I finally understood that I was just about to allow (even though he didn't know it) my own son to bare my breast. The sensation passed in a wave of excitement as the edge of the material slipped across the tip of my rigid nipple.

The sensation of being exposed was stronger, wilder and more exciting than anything I had ever experienced. Within a couple of seconds, Jake had pulled the material below the swell of my breast, exposing all of it to his gaze. His eager gaze, to judge by the increase in the speed of his breathing.

I could sense that he was adjusting his position somehow and with a start realised that he was pushing at the front of his boxers. He gave a soft sigh -- I presumed, of release -- and there came a rhythmic movement of air from the side of the bed. It took all my will to suppress a shudder of delight as I realised what he must be doing... to himself.

To be the object of such desire -- such forbidden desire -- was giddying. My body was aching with excitement, torn between the desire to watch my son and the need to maintain the charade of sleep so that he would suffer no embarrassment or worse.

As the frustration I was feeling began to reach critical levels, Jake's rate of breathing increased and began to sound ragged. I understood at once what this indicated -- his approaching climax -- and the muscles in my pelvic floor spasmed in empathy. The only concern I had in the whole world now, was whether I could prevent myself from climaxing as well!

If I had thought that this was the culmination of all possibilities of excitement, then I was disproved a couple of seconds later.

Jake gave a deep, hissing breath and as a barely suppressed moan rose in his throat, his shaking fingers brushed over my exposed breast.

I thought I would explode -- in every sense -- and when the grip became firmer, his hand now cupping my breast, my nipple rigid against the palm -- I had to clench every muscle in my body to prevent my climax from having me howl like a wild wolf.

Jake came in a shuddering series of muted gasps, his free hand caressing and exploring the contours of my naked breast, a brief foray under the material cupping my right breast for a second or two as well.

I held my own climax back -- struggled and clenched and willed it to wait -- until Jake had hastily pulled my t-shirt back up, covered me once more with the sheet, and then scurried from the room.

No sooner had I heard his bedroom door ease shut than my hand was inside my soaked panties. Knowing that Jake would still be awake -- and not wanting him to have any idea that I had witnessed his adventure -- I flipped onto my belly, my fingers stroking at moist and eager lips as I let loose my orgasm. Wave after wave of such intensity crashed through me, my cries lost in the pillow.

Such was the intensity of the climax, that for a while I thought it might never end -- that I would lose consciousness with my muscles taking into oblivion with joy. The memory of the feel of Jake's hand on my bare breast brought forth orgasm after orgasm, and even when my body had finished, my mind took me further.

I've no idea how long the whole episode lasted, but afterwards, I felt exhausted beyond words. And overjoyed beyond imagining.

Sunday morning dawned bright and sunny, and it was pretty much matched by my mood. Somehow, some way, I had all the answers I wanted, and now all I had to do was try to come to terms with my emotions and feelings. I lay in bed for a long while, turning over the possibilities given what had happened and what I had read about the previous day.

To my surprise I wasn't totally freaked by all that had happened in the past day and a half, and I was equally surprised to find that I was already able to accept what was happening, and to square away my own feelings about everything.

Jake was being a typical teenage male in some respects, and even if the focus of his curiosity -- or even just plain lust -- happened to be his own mother, it wasn't that unusual. My own feelings -- the desperate levels of excitement that Jake's arousal triggered deep within me -- was certainly a complete surprise, but I was honest enough with myself to be able to accept that it had just happened and that there was little I could do about it.

I was all too aware of what society thought of such things following my research, but I was also aware that 'society' often thought things for the sake of convenience rather than for any logical reasons. We all know about the dangers of reproduction within a family group, but that didn't stop the underlying feelings -- the lust and desire -- from being any less real and any less persistent.

In any case, I loved Jake with all my heart -- as a mother -- and it was obvious that he was desperate for come sort of intimate contact with a female. I still imagined that it was a case of any female, but even if I was wrong in that, what did it really matter when all was said and done?

I resolved, in that cosy Sunday morning bed, that I would not in any way risk embarrassing my boy, but I also made a vow with myself that I would indulge his curiosity a little more. Nothing too serious, I thought, but maybe a little more wrestling, and maybe some more feigned sleep.

Of course, my decisions were not entirely charitable. The excitement that Jake had brought out of me was intoxicating, and I confess that I wanted to experience that feeling again before Jake had satisfied his curiosity. Again, I vowed that things would not be taken too far and I was thorough and well-considered as I set myself a series of boundaries that I would not allow to be breached.

To say that I was content with my decisions would be a terrible understatement -- and even then, I had to ensure I tempered my emotions with some mundane realism. For all I knew, Jake might already have satisfied his curiosity during that very preceding night. After all, I had only woken twice before with that strange sensation lingering from my sleep, and in all probability that meant that Jake had only ventured into my room twice before. Perhaps last night's third time would have been his charm, and I would remain unhappily unmolested during future nights.