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I'm a 26 year old male, a professional with an advanced degree, and I've had sexual relations with my mother for the last two years. Mom is 42. She is a wonderful, sexy woman - thrice divorced - who has had her share of bad relationships. I never knew my father - he left before I was born.
I've had girlfriends through my teens and my early twenties, and many satisfying sexual experiences. My childhood was generally happy one. Mom would always seem to hook up with some loser or low-life who would leave after only a few months. The only constants in our lives were with each other. Oh, there was nothing sexual between us then! During puberty I confess that I fantasied about Mom, but, (thank you, Dr. Freud), I don't think its too unusual for a zit-faced adolescent boy with raging hormones to have such fantasies.
How did our relationship start? After I left grad school, I landed a terrific job in my profession. I went apartment hunting but Mom suggested I move back home for while. After cramped college dorms it felt good to be back home. It was just Mom and me like in the old days. The stay was only supposed to be temporary until I found an apartment but after a few months I stopped looking. Mom joked that I just wanted someone to do my laundry. Yeah, it was nice to have home-cooked meals and someone to clean up after me. But it was nice to re-capture that feeling of warmth of sharing a home with someone who cares.
It all started one morning when I was getting ready for work. Since Mom started work later than I she would usually still be sleeping by the time I left the house. The bathroom door was open. I guess because I was running late I must not have seen that the bathroom light was on. Anyway, I stepped into the bathroom - and had the shock of my life.
Mom was standing in front of the mirror applying mascara. I gasped. Mom was wearing nothing but a white nylon half-slip. It was a sight forever burned into my mind. All the secret, shameful fantasies of pubescence rushed through me at once. I know the decent thing for me to do at this point would be to close the door and walk away. But I couldn't - I couldn't tear myself away. Mom's breasts were larger than I had imagined, fuller than I had remembered in accidental 'sightings' as a child when Mom was more casual about her nudity. Her breasts hung pendulously down as she leaned toward the mirror. They jiggled slightly with Mom's movements. My knees were weak.
I don't know how long I was standing in there in the doorway. Time stood still. It was agonizing and wonderful at the same time. Mom didn't seem to notice me. When she finished with the mascara she looked over at me and, without any indication of surprise, said she had an early meeting at work. I furtively lifted my eyes, stumbled an apology, and hurried away.
I couldn't concentrate on my work the entire day. My mind was fogged with feverish images of my mother. I felt so ashamed and so excited at the same time. Occasionally while sitting at my desk, my hand would wander below but I pulled it away when I realized what I was doing.
I dreaded coming home. Did Mom realize I had been gawking at her? Gawking at my own mother? When I entered the front door I rehearsed in my mind a speech where I would tell her it would probably be best for me to move out. I never got the chance to make that speech.
Dinner was my favorite - steak and baked potatoes. I hardly ate anything. Mom talked cheerfully about her day. I guess she didn't notice anything that morning. I felt so relieved as I sipped wine under the candlelight. Mom kept pouring the wine as we chatted about our lives and how nice things were since I moved back home. My eyes would wander occassional to Mom's bust. She was wearing a green satin blouse that brought out the highlights of her strawberry-blond hair. As she leaned over to pour the wine, I would notice the deep cleavage through the top of the blouse along with a white flash of a lacy brassiere. One time she caught me looking. I straightened up immediately, and felt a hot flush of shame. But Mom just wagged her finger playfully and smiled. Mom was probably feeling as woozy as me at this point. By the time she brought up our 'encounter' that morning I was feeling no pain. She asked me if liked what I saw. I shook my head vehemently, which made me even dizzier. "Sure, you did", she replied with a curious smile.
She rose from the table and gathered up the dirty dishes. I got up from my chair to help, but she shooed me away, telling me to sit there. After she dissappeared into the kitchen I could hear tingle of silverware and rattle of dishes as she loaded up the dishwasher. I just sat there sipping from my glass when I heard her call. I went into the kitchen. It was empty. "Mom?"
I found Mom in her bedroom, lying on her bed. She wore nothing but a grin. "Ready for your dessert?" she said. Mom and I fucked like bunnys that night.
We awoke, cradling each other, to the morning light. We made love slowly and gently. Afterwards she held me to her breast as I nursed her for - what seemed - hours. We both called in sick and spend the rest of the day in bed together.
Mom and I are both sexually adventurous. We always looking for new ways to excite each other, and express the depth of our love for each other. We both enjoy oral sex. And of course, anything involving breastplay is a delicious treat for both of us. Frequently, I suck on Mom's big boobs, (38D's!), in the aftermath of sex, and it isn't long until we are both hot enough to begin again! We both delight in role playing, (Mommy/son is our #1 fav, but we try to creative for variety's sake!). Mom's secret hot spot in her butt. She loves to be spanked, and I am more than willing to oblige with some hard slaps to her big, fleshy bottom. Frequently, this ends with me finally greasing up her squirming, reddened butt with baby oil and fucking her anally. She eggs me on with breathless obscenities as I fuck Mom's ass but I worry about her discomfort. She says she likes anal sex but I fear she is just obliging me because I enjoy it so much. We have used sex toys to spice things up further, and, lately, we have been progressing into S&M, where we switch off the top and bottom roles.
I am in love with this beautiful woman. She is everything to me. I couldn't imagine myself with anyone else. Any other relationship pales in comparison. Mom has tried to convince me to date other women, but I know I couldn't do that. She tells me I won't want anything to do with her when she old and gray, but I want to share my life with no other. We have even vacationed together where, away from prying neighbors and acquaintances, we are able to be seen as lovers. People just think I have a thing for older women, but I know every man is green with envy who sees me with my arm around this sexy, beautiful knockout.
Incest is too dirty of a word to describe our feelings for each other. The original purpose of the incest taboo was to prevent recessive genetic problems caused by in-breeding, however, this rationale is now antiquated with the advent of safe, reliable birth control. reliable birth-control, (Mom is currently on the pill but I am thinking about the big V as a way of permanently solving this problem).
My secret dream is for us to move away, take on new identities - and marry. We have no other family, but this would mean leaving our friends and jobs behind. None of this matters as long as we have each. We are practically living as man and wife, anyway; but it would be so wonderful for us to publically proclaim our love for each other. I bought a ring, (2.5 carats!), last month. I haven't got up the nerve just yet - but I intend to 'pop' the question to Mom any day now!