My Last Summer with Mom Ch. 01

This is a work of fiction, intended as a sexual fantasy. The behavior in this story is not condoned or encouraged by the author. All sexual activity is engaged in by characters of legal age.

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Mom/Son - Incest - Taboo - Long Story - Buildup - Edging - Teasing - Slow Burn - Coercion - Guilt - Giving In - Love - Straight Sex - Hand Job - First Time - Kinky Mom - Graphic Sex

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CHAPTER 1

A few years after Dad left, Mom and I moved into Grandpa's old farmhouse.

We basically lived there when I was a little kid anyway. Dad was over the road 3 out of 4 weeks every month, and honestly I liked it that way. Driving a truck was the only thing he was really good at, other than cheating on my mom with progressively younger women, and Mom and I always had a better time when he was gone. When he finally left for good, Mom only cried once.

I didn't cry at all.

While Dad was gone, Mom and I would go over to Grandma and Grandpa's house and I'd wear myself out in the yard playing with my cousins while Mom drank beer and played cards with Grandpa and talked about politics. Grandpa loved talking about politics... almost as much as he liked complicated card games that I could never get the hang of. This was back when Grandma was alive and the years of cigarette smoking hadn't crept up on Grandpa yet.

I still see Grandpa once a week. The home where he lives now is nice, and there are plenty of nurses for him to flirt with. Mom makes sure of that. "It's what grandma would have wanted," she says, which is a lie. Grandma was a jealous woman and I'm sure she continues to be jealous from beyond the grave. But it made Grandpa laugh. It's good when Grandpa laughs, he seems less sick for a moment.

We moved into his farmhouse, and I was thrilled. When Dad left we'd drifted from apartment to apartment, sometimes with only one bedroom. Not only was Grandpa's house full of wonderful childhood memories, it had 3 bedrooms, so I had my own room for the first time in years. It used to be my uncle Gary's room, and it still had a Led Zeppelin poster shoved in the back of the closet. Mom said he used to have Playboy magazines stuffed back there too, and she acted like that was somehow something funny and a little dirty. I didn't know what Playboy magazines were, other than that they didn't exist anymore and people tended to giggle when you brought them up.

Mom didn't believe in public school, and we couldn't afford private school, so I spent most of my teenage years in that old farmhouse, reading voraciously. Honestly, I didn't mind. Mom had gone to college but dropped out before finishing, but not before she had become obsessed with the classics, and she kept me well supplied. When I wasn't reading, I was outside, running myself ragged even past my 18th birthday. The closest family was through the neighboring woods and their kids were 3 or 4 years younger than me, but I didn't mind. I think the hard times right after Dad left made it hard for me to want to grow up too soon, so we played together like we were all the same age: riding bikes, having pine cone wars, drinking spring water and generally acting like wild animals. When I got home I'd take a long hot bath (our old apartment only had a leaky stall shower) and then read for hours. We didn't have the internet and Mom had a cell phone, but there was just a landline at the house that I used for emergencies, so I just read, and watched movies on DVD.

Mom was young when she had me, so when I was 18, she was in her mid-30's. Everyone always told her she was beautiful, and she was. Tall, full-figured, with long dark hair and brown eyes. She was a waitress at a local diner, so she was always gone when I woke up in the mornings. She would leave lunch in the fridge and it was my job to make dinner, which I did even though I was bad at it. She never complained, although sometimes it would end up with a lesson on how to cook the food better. Mom was full of lessons. She never spanked me when I was younger, but she liked things to be a certain way and I always knew what it was.

This summer was when everyone was talking about the tick infestation. We didn't watch the news, and even we had heard about it. One of the kids down the street had even been bitten by a deer tick and got Lyme disease, so Mom became paranoid about ticks and insisted on checking me over every night after dinner. This promised to interfere with my reading (I was reading the Odyssey at the time and it was finally getting good), so I objected. Mom pulled out her phone and showed me pictures of what happens when people get Lyme disease. Going on the internet at all was really rare for Mom, so it made an impression, and I let her go through my hair slowly and methodically with the tweezers from her makeup bag. She usually found a tick.It was definitely for the best.

It was a stale, humid Wednesday night a few weeks later when I found a tick on my own.

Mom was working late and she said she'd eat at the restaurant. The neighbor kids and I were playing man hunt in the tall grass near the creek, which means I returned to the farmhouse covered in dirt and scratches from the sharp edges of the grass, which had been slowly drying out for weeks in the hot August sun.

Grandpa's house didn't have any air conditioning, so all the box fans we had were roaring as I stood in the bathroom, stiffly peeling my shirt off. While the teenagers around me had grown into their bodies already, everything with me seemed to be taking its time, and I was only now starting to sprout hair along the center of my chest, and bristles of it poked unevenly through the caked-up dirt on my face. I started the shower and as I started pulling off my pants, I saw a tick crawling on my belly. I snatched at it but it crawled with surprising speed down between my legs and was gone from sight.

"Are you ok?"

The sound startled me. I jerked visibly and saw Mom looking at me in the mirror. The fans had drowned out the sound of her returning and her face looked tired and concerned.

"Uh, there was a tick I think," I said, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden.

"Where?" Mom asked. When tick mania had first started, she would fret and worry, but lately she had been content with mussing through my hair and making sure there were no bites. "Nowhere," I said. "I think it's gone now."

Mom looked at me for a second in the mirror. She knew my bullshit voice. "Where is it, sweetheart?"

I stood there for a long second. "It crawled down my pants. It's ok, I'll find him."

Mom was already standing in front of me, unsnapping my jeans. She smelled like deep fry oil and sweat and I could feel her tiredness radiating off of her. When Mom was tired there was no negotiating. "Honestly, I should have been checking you more thoroughly anyway. Bob Mooney was talking to me a few days ago and he said one of his kids had a tick right in between his leg and body. They didn't find it for days and when they did it was burrowed in and took forever to get out."

That didn't sound good.

My pants came down and Mom was kneeling in front of me, looking. Her face was close to my underwear and my chest suddenly felt a low buzz like I'd never felt before.

"You stink." Mom laughed a little. "Did you drag yourself through manure?"

I had, in fact, done precisely that. But I'd been the last person to get tagged. Worth it.

Mom's hands probed and prodded. "I don't see him." Suddenly my underwear was around my ankles. Mom had given me a hundred baths before, but it had been over a year since our last one. In the meantime, everything below the waist had gotten significantly bigger and there was a new growth forest of hair. I was suddenly embarrassed, but I didn't have time to react.

Mom's hands lifted my testicles, which hung low because of the heat. "Found him!" She nabbed the tick with her fingers and held it up triumphantly.

It was like I was seeing it from a great distance. All I could feel was her hand on me. It had only been for a moment, but it felt like something I'd never felt before. My face was burning.

Mom was standing in front of me now and she deftly snapped the tick in half with her fingernails. "Hop in the shower," she said. "You're wasting water."

I only just then remembered that the shower was still running.

Every night for the rest of the summer, Mom checked every part of me for ticks. After the first time, it seemed way more normal, and I didn't think of it much, except when she touched me between my legs I'd feel that same charged sensation, almost as if I'd drunk a shot of espresso. She was matter-of-fact and quick about it, but I'd still feel it. As time went on, I started looking forward to it.

I'm embarrassed to admit that, even at 18, I really didn't know anything about sex. I wasn't just a late bloomer physically, I didn't have access to the internet or even public schooling. I hadn't felt a lot of physical urges yet, and the ones I'd had quickly passed if I went outside or did something else. I'd never had an orgasm and I'd only occasionally had an erection, usually when washing myself in the shower. I found that if I left it alone, it went away, although I felt antsy and physically wound up for hours afterward. I knew I was attracted to girls, but I didn't know what it meant. The furthest my fantasies had ever gotten was that I wanted to try kissing. I knew "sex" was where babies came from but as far as I knew it was something that happened by itself. I didn't ask and nobody bothered to tell me. In the eyes of my mom, and probably the eyes of most of the adults around me, I was still basically a kid.

One night in early September, as the nights were cooling off, Mom came home late from work. Usually she was home around 6, but it was almost 8 before she walked in the door. I was in the middle of watching Back to the Future, and I was making myself a lemonade as the movie got to my favorite part: when George finally knocks out Biff.

Mom looked disheveled and smelled strongly of grease, malt vinegar and mustard. "I'm so sorry, honey," she said. Her eyes were strangely hollow. "We had a basketball team today and they decided it would be a good idea to have a food fight. We've been cleaning up for hours. Tom said I could have time and a half for it, but this is why I don't send you to public school."

She stripped off her shirt and flung it away from her in the direction of the laundry room before collapsing onto the couch and I could see that some of the greasy food had soaked through her shirt and into her bra.

Her bra.

I'd seen Mom in a bra a thousand times but for some reason today I really saw. She always wore the same bra to work: it was black and lacy and it pushed her breasts up higher than they normally were when she wore the ratty old around-the-house bra. She called it her "high tip bra" and I always knew to make sure it didn't go in with the regular laundry.

I walked instinctively toward her, trying desperately not to stare at her breasts. Where did I normally look when Mom was around? Her eyes? That felt weird. Her mouth? Somehow that didn't feel right either...

Mom reached out with both arms, wiggling her fingers for me to come sit down and hug her. I walked wordlessly to the couch and when I sat down she pulled me close to her. Everything soft about her smooshed up against me and I felt that electric thrill in my chest, stronger than ever before.

"You smell bad, were you out in the woods today?" Mom reached for the remote and turned up the volume. Marty McFly was about to play the guitar at the school dance and she liked that part.

I nodded. I'd made grilled cheese earlier and forgotten to shower, and Mom's grilled cheese was cold and dead on the counter. I gestured toward it but she ignored me.

"Tick check," she said wearily, motioning for me to stand up. I was used to the routine by now, and I stripped my clothes off as Marty played "Johnny B. Goode" on the TV behind me.

Mom motioned for me to bow over and then hummed along as she rumpled my hair, trying not to stand up from the couch. Then her fingers were in the hair on my chest. My eyes locked onto her breasts, defying gravity in the lacy black bra.

That was the wrong idea. The moment her fingers touched my testicles, I felt a rush of sensation and then suddenly my penis, which I didn't ever used to do things like this, started to swell.

I panicked but I didn't know what to do. Apparently Mom had found something because she burrowed in deep with her fingers, searching, moving things around...

... it was happening. I was getting hard, harder than I ever had before.

"God you stink, you need to remember to shower after you play outside all day," Mom said aimlessly, then I saw her eyes snap to my erection. She paused.

Years passed. Eons.

My face burned. I felt every drop of blood leave my brain and rush between my legs, and an aching, tightening feeling as the skin on my penis became as taut as a drum.

There was movement from Mom's hands and then suddenly she was sitting up straight, a wiggling tick between her fingers.

"Take a shower."

It was as if nothing had happened.

I walked from the living room faster than I wanted to and took a shower, heart racing. For the first time, when I washed my penis, an electric shock of pleasure would stab through my abdomen and race into my brain. It was intoxicating. I didn't want to stop, but it soon became all I could think about, and Mom was in the living room and I was terrified of taking too long.

When I came back, Mom was in a robe. She was eating her microwaved grilled cheese sandwich and had popped the second Back to the Future movie into the DVD player. She gave me a look that I couldn't read, almost as if she wanted to ask a question, then she changed her mind.

We snuggled and watched the rest of the movie and that night, I dreamed of Mom, endlessly checking me for ticks while the steaming water of a hot shower poured all over me.