Milestones Ch. 01

I wasn't sure why I couldn't sleep that particular night and I am not sure whether it was some sort of sixth sense or simply coincidence that made me stumble across them. As I left my room to make my way downstairs, I walked quietly past the door of their room. It was slightly open and, as I glanced in, I saw them both. The quilt was pushed away and I could see the slender legs of my mother hitched up around his waist. Her arms were reaching round his back and I could see his movement in and out of her as they fucked. I stopped myself and turned instantly but, even in that fleeting moment, I knew that she had seen me. Her face was open and flushed at the obvious pleasure of the act and her eyes made brief contact with mine as she looked across towards the open doorway.

Back in my bed I felt a jolt of sickening shock. I didn't understand how she could do that with him now. He was the man who had lied to her and she was with him in the same bed in which we had held each other just a few nights before. I felt a new emotion now that should have destroyed what had been growing between us. Instead it simply served to strengthen the tide that was pushing us along. It was a raw and bitter emotion. Jealousy.

The next morning my father left early for work. My mother didn't get up and I didn't wait for her. It was my last full day before returning to university and I wanted to be anywhere but in that house. I went walking most of the day on my own. Nowhere in particular just anywhere away from her. By the time I came back in the afternoon I was soaked to the skin from torrential rain and virtually frozen. She fussed around me like any mother would but I was sullen and could barely look at her, refusing to eat the meal she had prepared for me.

Neither of us spoke about the night before but she broke the taboo of the subject by telling me I needed to grow up. That stung as much as her kiss had but in a different way. She had wanted me to remain a child when she needed it and now she was choosing to treat me as a man because she needed that. I wanted to hurt her like she was hurting me and so I called her a whore. My father's whore whenever he wanted her.

She slapped my face. Twice. Hard, hateful blows that came from somewhere deep inside her. Never in my entire life had she struck me before and the knowledge that she had done so now was more painful than the actual physical contact.

I went upstairs unable to stop the deluge of tears that was welling inside of me. I went into the shower and stood there for a long time, trying to wash the cold from my body that had entered it when she had hit me. Afterwards I sat on the edge of my bed with just a towel around my waist as I tried to come to terms with how I felt.

She came into the room without speaking and sat down beside me on the bed.

"I'm sorry." She spoke quietly and looked at me but I would not face her.

She reached up and touched my cheek. The place that she had hit me, as if her touch could somehow take away the pain that was everywhere. She spoke again, "I'm so sorry my darling."

She gently pressed her lips to my face and kept saying it over and over again as she kissed lightly over my skin. She kept repeating her kiss and her words as if they were something more important than anything she had ever given me. Over and over again, the feel of her lips on my skin and the sound of her words.

She touched her fingers to the bareness of my chest and called me her beautiful boy. She stroked delicate lines over the skin as she continued to kiss and speak her words. Her touch moved down to where the towel was wrapped at my waist and she kept saying it as she hesitantly began to loosen the fold that held it to me.

"I'm so sorry my beautiful boy."

As she spoke her fingers touched my penis and I began to sense the enjoyment of her contact. She stroked a featherlike movement until she reached the very end where the head began to swell at the teasing sensation. She looked down as her hand completely encircled me and she began to make gradual and gentle stroking movements. As I grew hard she looked up into my face and for the first time we made eye contact. She spoke.

"Is this what you want? Is this what you want my beautiful boy?"

I didn't speak because she didn't need me to. She moved her hand more steadily as she worked my hardening cock and I closed my eyes. Each stroke sent a wave of warm pleasure through me. I had masturbated myself so many times, but nothing could compare to the beautiful sensation she was causing. I opened my eyes and looked down at her slender hand wrapped around me as she delicately touched and caressed me. The physical feeling was incredible, but I also knew there was something more. The real pleasure came from knowing that the woman touching me in this way and doing this to me was my own mother. Without me fully understanding it at the time, I was entering a world where sexual highs were intensified by the consciousness that my partner was a woman who I shared another type of relationship with. The woman who had given birth to me. The love between us as mother and son was becoming strangely twisted in this deep and mysterious sexual act.

After a while, she moved her face back to mine and she began to kiss me as she massaged me. Her tongue searched deeply into my mouth and her deep kiss coupled with the motion of her hand made me come. I felt an incredible surge of release as the thick spurts fired up over my stomach and washed out over her hand. The feeling was incredible. She released her mouth from mine and looked down at the stream that sprayed and leaked from me. I quietly spoke out the word "mum" as the sensation hit me, and she responded by spreading her mouth over mine again as my pleasure subsided.

She slowly decreased her motions until I was spent. She rubbed her hand through the ejaculation that was covering my skin and she seemed to enjoy the lubrication that it offered between her hand and my stomach. We stayed like that for a few moments, her just touching me in this way as we both accepted what we had just shared.

As we became still she kissed me again. This time her kiss was much lighter. She held my face in both of her hands and told me that she loved me, before telling me it was time that I came down to eat. It seemed like an unusual way to break through the intensity of our situation, but perhaps that was natural given that this was a mother and son enjoying a close and loving tryst. That was the beginning. But only the beginning.