In California, August is usually the hottest month of the summer. This summer was no different. Each and every day in August, the sun beat down like a giant, burning lightbulb of heat, both illuminating the day and scorching its inhabitants like fire. It'll probably come as no surprise then that my family and I decided to get away for a week at a beach resort up north.
My son Owen had been working out at our local gym all summer, trying to get in shape for walk-on tryouts for his college's rowing team. Owen has never been the most athletic guy. He's extremely tall and lanky, and he's never held much of an interest in sports. But now that he's starting college in the fall, he decided he wanted to broaden his horizons and get involved with a team.
Personally, I've stayed dedicated to my own fitness regimen of dance classes and cardio workouts for the past twenty-five years. At 36, I think I look pretty damn great. So I applauded Owen for his new commitment to doing right by his young body.
And when I saw him without his shirt on at the beach resort, I applauded him even more. In my head, at least. There I was, sitting upright in my new cherry-colored bikini, trying to get a nice tan on my stomach and thighs, when I looked up and saw Owen basically undressing right in front of my eyes.
I hadn't seen his new and improved body fully yet; I only had vaguely detected his growing biceps under the button-down shirts he usually wore. Now that I saw it in full view, I couldn't believe that only a few months spent at the gym could make that world of difference. His muscles bulged from his arms and he had real abs now. Not just a flat stomach, but abs.
After a few moments, he caught me staring. He turned his blue-eyed gaze toward me with a goofy grin on his face. "Like what you see, Mom?" he asked teasingly.
But it wasn't really a joke. I did in fact like what I saw. More than I should have. "W-well, yeah! You look great, honey. The gym is really paying off," I quickly remarked, trying to make my staring seem like innocent admiration for the hard work he had put in over the summer.
He didn't seem entirely convinced though. That grin remained on his face as he nodded and uttered a small "thanks". It was then that my husband Gary and my two younger sons arrived. They had been putting our suitcases away in our rooms while Owen and I reserved us a nice spot on the beach. I felt a surge of guilt in the pit of my stomach as Gary took a seat in the chair beside me and leaned over for a kiss.
I kissed him back, but my eyes were open, taking another sideways glance at my suddenly-manly son. Owen and his brothers then went to explore the ocean while I remained behind with Gary. I don't think he could tell that I was acting different, that my mind was elsewhere. But it definitely was. Just minutes before, the sight of my son had made me immediately wet, and I couldn't ignore this.
I tried to remind myself that this was my precious little boy I was thinking about. So what if his body looked amazing and his face had always looked amazing? Those blazing sapphire eyes, dark black hair, and awkward little smile...now accompanied by a real man's body instead of a boy's... But no. He was still my little boy. I told myself this over and over in my mind, and I tried to think back on childhood memories of him to keep these sudden and bizarre thoughts at bay.
I imagined when I first dropped him off at kindergarten and how he hugged my leg for ten minutes straight, not wanting to let go and face the first day of school. I thought about the time when he was ten-years-old and he scraped he knee playing soccer and vowed never to play sports ever again. I remembered when he said his first word, and how he painted his bedroom himself, and how I used to give him baths.
This last recollection, however, lead me somewhere dark and disturbing. Just when I thought that I was starting to view Owen as my son once again, a new image came to my head. It wasn't of me and Owen taking a bath together when he was two. It was of us taking a bath together now. I wondered what it would be like. How he would react to seeing my naked body peeking out under the warm bubbles in the tub. What his own body would look like now, glistening with the sheen of hot water on his sturdy shoulders and bare chest.
"Susie? Did you hear what I said?" Gary's voice interrupted my reverie, and I turned to him with a flushed, flustered face.
"I'm sorry? No, I was just..." I tried to think of a plausible excuse. "I was just thinking about how nice it is to have the whole family together like this again. It's been too long since we've all taken a vacation together, and I'm really glad we were able to to do this before Owen goes away to school next month.
" At this, Gary offered me a small, understanding smile and a nod of agreement. "I know. I'm glad too. This is really nice."
Now don't get me wrong; my husband is a good guy. He's sweet and loyal...but also the most boring man I've ever known. I know that sounds horrible, but it's the truth. I used to consider this a good thing. In fact, his stability and calm demeanor were two of the qualities I used to value the most in him. I had dated my fair share of "bad boys" in my day, and Gary was just the opposite. A real gentleman, with a secure job and a practical outlook on life.
Owen, on the other hand, is excitement personified. Even before this strange attraction for him took over my body that day, I had always enjoyed my son's company much more than my husband's. With Owen, I just never know what I'm going to get on any particular day. He's full of surprises and contradictions, and that's what makes him so brilliantly fascinating to me.
For example, I've already stated that Owen has never been the most masculine sort. He likes writing poetry and painting, and I once caught him knitting a scarf or blanket or something like that when he was alone in his room.
But Owen is by no means submissive or shy. Oh, no. He has an unexpectedly outgoing, bold, and assertive personality. He won't take "no" for an answer when he wants something, and he stands up to anyone who ever dares to call him "girly" or to say he'll never make it as an artist. I've always admired that about him.
And when I'm with him, I feel like I'm constantly on the edge of my seat. Oftentimes he'll say or do things that seem completely random, but--in his head at least--they always make perfect sense. I just like being along for the ride.
On the other hand, my husband and I have fallen into an excruciatingly dull arrangement. We have sex only once every four months or so, and we don't even talk much anymore. Well, to be honest, we never really did. He never had much to say, and that day at the resort was no exception.
It didn't take long before he had fallen asleep in his chair, his mouth slightly open as sweat beads dripped down his slightly-puffy gut. Yes, he had put on quite a few pounds since we got married. I know it may sound shallow, but I'd take bulging muscles over a bulging stomach any day of the week if I could.
I myself stayed awake, however, and watched my kids having fun in the water nearby. My younger sons, Burt and Kenny, were chasing each other as Owen stayed behind, seemingly happy with just feeling his feet and legs enveloped by the cool salty wetness of the ocean.
My own wetness was once again bothering me. I felt the tiny muscles underneath my moistness filling up with tension as my eyes looked over my son again, moving away from his chest and muscles down to his swimsuit instead.
I wondered to myself just how big he had gotten over the years. I hadn't seen him naked since he was six-years-old, and I daydreamed about how much progress he had undoubtedly made since then.
Increasingly frustrated by the dampening crease between my thighs, I looked around and made sure no one was watching as I took my floppy sun hat off my head and covered my bikini bottom with it. I then slipped two fingers underneath the red fabric, inside my hole that was begging for attention.
I felt my fingers becoming sticky and hot as I penetrated myself with them, and I let one graze over my clit gently before applying some pressure to it. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the relief it brought me until I instinctively felt a pair of eyes gazing at me.
Quickly opening my eyes and stopping the movements of my fingers, I saw Owen staring at me unblinkingly from a good twenty feet away. I felt my entire face heat up with the swelter of embarrassment. 'How much could he have seen?' I wondered, slipping my fingers out of myself and putting my hat back on my head where it belonged.
Having averted my glance from him, I'm not sure how long after that he continued to stare at me. But it became clear later that night that our strange and surreal exchange on the beach wasn't going to be the end of it.
I had been sleeping peacefully in the hotel room with my husband when Owen dropped by. Okay, if I'm being honest, it wasn't exactly peaceful. I was instead wracked with guilt over what I had thought about and what I had done at the beach. I couldn't stop thinking about it and what it meant, but I tried to convince myself that it was nothing at all, and that I shouldn't worry about it.
I told myself: "It was just a passing thought; it meant nothing. It certainly doesn't mean you want to fuck your own son, the little boy you birthed and raised and loved so purely for all eighteen years of his life thus far."
Feeling my husband's loving and safe arms around me as he snored contently didn't help matters either. But what it made it worst of all was the soft knock on the door that came at about 11:15.
I carefully slid out from under Gary's grasp and tiptoed to the door, not wanting to wake my snoozing husband. Opening the door, I was surprised to see Owen standing there, still in his bathing suit. I had gotten changed out of mine hours earlier, and now I was wearing nothing but a thin pink satin nightgown.
"Owen? What's going on, honey?" I asked, worried that there might have been some type of emergency situation at hand.
Luckily, his smile reassured me that nothing was wrong. At least, not wrong in the way of an accident or a fire or a break-in. "Heh. Um, well, nothing's really going on. But uh, that's kind of what I wanted to change."
"What do you mean? You're bored?"
"I guess you could put it that way! And well...the hot tub downstairs is open for use until midnight, soooo...I was thinking maybe you wanted to join me?" He gazed down at me with a look in his eyes that I had never seen before, filled with both nervousness and deviousness.
I couldn't say "no", even though I had a feeling I should. In the bathroom, I changed back into my swimsuit within two minutes and then linked my arm with my son's as we headed down to the jacuzzi. Unsurprisingly, it was unoccupied. Most of the hotel's occupants were already asleep or at least in their rooms. Maybe even all of them were, besides me and Owen. The thought that we were the only two around sent a chill of excitement up my spine.
Taking my hand gently, Owen led me into the hot tub, and we sat down next to each other on the small bench inside. The warm water and mild bubbles made me think of the bath-time fantasy I had on the beach earlier. It was as if Owen had been reading my mind.
Of course, I highly doubted that he really had any idea of what had been going on in my mind that day. This little near-midnight excursion was probably as innocent as innocent could be. A mother and son keeping each other company on vacation. Nothing more.
Or at least, that's what I assumed until Owen looked away from me suddenly and mumbled, "So I saw you today."
"Saw me?" I asked, furrowing my eyebrows in confusion.
He bit his lip slightly and then looked up to meet my eyes again. "I saw you...you know. Playing with yourself."
I can honestly say I've never been as humiliated as I was at that moment. I wanted to just sink below the water and die on the spot. But alas, no such luck. "Y-you did? I mean, no! I wasn't. I don't know what you thought you saw, Owen, but it wasn't that."
It was futile. He knew. I knew he knew. "Mom...come on. Don't lie to me. I'm an adult now. You don't have to lie," he said softly, inching closer to me. "And it's okay. I'm not gonna like...judge you or anything. I mean, I do it too. Obviously. Heh."
My tongue felt frozen and my cheeks felt the opposite of frozen. I looked away quickly and shook my head but remained speechless. Owen, on the other hand, was as bold as ever. Putting his index finger under my chin, he asked, "So were you thinking of me?"
"What? What gave you an idea like that?" I countered at lightning-speed, though I didn't move his finger away from me.
"Mom, come on. I know you were. Stop lying to me," he said again, reaching his other hand up to just beneath my right breast, as if he were contemplatively whether or not to touch me. I purposefully took a deep breath so that my chest would swell out suggestively to him; he took the hint and softly rubbed his thumb against my instantly-taut nipple.
"Owen, we can't..." I started, swallowing the nervous lump that appeared in my throat. But even I didn't believe my own words. I wanted him badly. My whole body ached for him now.
"Can I just kiss you then? Please? I just wanna know what it'd be like," he said, making my nipple harden more and more each second he circled it.
Instead of replying with words, I lost all control and lunged forward, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him in for a lustful kiss. His lips were soft and innocent, but his tongue was the devil as it licked tenderly on my bottom lip before stuffing itself inside my mouth.
His hands moved from my front to my behind. He filled his hands up with my big ass, tracing the line between my cheeks with a feather-light touch that drove me crazy. My husband never touched the inside of my ass like that. In all the years we had been married, he was too prissy and cautious to tease my asshole the way my son did within the first five minutes of becoming intimate with me.
And now I knew I wanted more. Needed more. I needed my little boy's big cock inside me. Pulling back from the kiss to catch my breath, I slide off the bench and repositioned myself on my son's lap. He looked up at me with big, wondrous eyes, as if a long-held fantasy was finally coming true.
"Mom...are we really gonna...?" he asked.
I nodded firmly, through with being shy, done with feeling guilty. I had decided already to give in to this uncontrollable lust for my own flesh and blood, and nothing was going to stop me now.
Hungrily, I pulled off my bikini bottom and let it float away under the bubbles of the hot tub, next moving my hands to Owen's swimsuit and discarding it as quickly as possible. We moved most of our bodies out of the water, keeping our feet and the bottom of our legs nice and warm inside while the rest breathed in the cool night air.
With his wet back against the concrete, Owen propped me up atop him. I leaned down to plant a series of tiny wet kisses from his collarbone to the bottom of his heaving chest. Meanwhile, he was paying a lot of attention to my chest in return. My breasts dangled in front of him, begging to be played with, and he was never one to deny a beggar.
As he took one breast in his welcoming mouth and the other in his shaky hand, I lowered my hand to his throbbing cock and stroked it with the same maddeningly-delicate touch he had used on my ass. When it became hard as rock, I lowered myself onto him without a moment's hesitation. The time for doubt had come and gone. Now it was time for a world of bliss.
"Oh, my God, Mommy..." he whimpered, feeling himself fill me up, my wetness enveloping every inch of his stiffness as I rocked my pelvis up and down, steady and hard. He wasn't as innocent as he looked though. Thank God. He knew exactly where my clit was and it didn't take long before he was applying only the softest pressure to it. It was excruciating.
"Harder, sweetie. More," I panted, grinding myself harder against him in an attempt to relieve myself. He didn't listen. Little bastard just continued making tiny circles around my clit with tip of his finger, making all the muscles inside me feel like they would explode with tension. I was dripping onto his cock, which was getting deeper and deeper inside me until it could go no further.
Owen threw his head back in ecstasy, closing his eyes tightly and letting out a low, raspy moan as I rode him harder, harder, harder. My heartbeat was pounding against my ribcage, and a fuzzy heat suddenly took over my entire mind as it dawned on me again that I was fucking my own child and that I was in pure heaven doing it.
"Mom, I think I'm gonna..." he started, finally giving in to my requests and grinding his thumb against my clit nice and tough. Forcefully. It was all I needed to send me over the edge, hot ripples of pleasure overcoming my entire body all at once. It felt like the peak of victory as my spasms made me clench my opening down on Owen's cock.
Grabbing my hips for support, he finally burst, exploding his thick juice deep inside me. I collapsed on top on him only a few seconds after our orgasms, panting heavily and trying to catch my breath, my feet soaked in the water of the hot tub while the rest of me was soaked in my own ecstatic sweat.
My heartbeat was still wild and seemed like it would never be tame again. I looked up at my son, who gazed down at me with awestruck and loving eyes. He looked like he couldn't believe what just happened really did, in fact, happen. I could barely believe it either.
So we just stared at each other like that for minutes on end, neither of us able to find the words we wanted to say but both also knowing that nothing really needed to be said anyway. At least not right now.
We remained speechless as we retrieved our swimsuits, got dressed, and headed back up to our rooms. I think we were both still in a disbelieving daze because we entered our separate rooms without more than a couple incredibly awkward "goodnights" exchanged between us.
As I changed back into my nightgown, I stared at my oblivious sleeping husband, still snoring lightly and completely unaware that I had even left the bed. I'll be honest, it made me feel equal parts sick with guilt and airy with the excitement of truly naughty, filthy, forbidden love.
I crawled back into bed next to him, tentatively and gently placing his arm back around me as I rested my head on his shoulder. It felt so wrong. Not just because I had cheated on Gary for the first time in our twenty years of marriage. Not just because the person I had cheated on him with was our own mutual creation.
It was also because he was not the man I wanted to be lying in bed with anymore. He hadn't been for quite some time, but I had never thought much about it because there was no one I would particularly prefer over him.
Now there was. Owen. In only a day's time, he had undergone a startling transformation from my son to my lover. It was a whirlwind unlike any other I had ever experienced. I had longed for him to be inside me and now I longed for him to beside me.
But how was I supposed to fall asleep in Gary's arms as if nothing had happened? As I knew that I had broken the sacred vows of our marriage? As I was longing for the touch of my son?
I had a suspicion that I wouldn't be doing any sleep whatsoever that night.
And Owen confirmed this suspicion a half hour later when he knocked on my door once again. I should have known he would surprise me like he always did. Slipping away from my husband for the second time that night, I stepped silently to the door and creaked it open. "Owen?"