Becoming My MotherÂ’s Lover

My dad had been killed in an industrial accident at the Greensboro textile plant when I was thirteen and in the seventh grade. We were living in a nice, comfortable house on Walnut Street at the time of his death. The loss of my dad was not a financial burden, since the accidental death benefits ensured that my mother and I would not be destitute. However, although his death had been very difficult for me, it was devastating for my mom.

At the time mom was only in her early forties and quite attractive, at least I thought so. She was a relatively small woman, only about five foot three inches tall with a slender build and weighing only about 110 pounds. Her breasts were quite small and although she had a taut tummy and always looked wonderful in shorts or slacks, her hips were fairly full. Her hair was a warm, dark brown that she kept trimmed to just shoulder length. At that time she had begun to fret over the fact that she was beginning to get streaks of gray in her hair. Her face, though not stunningly beautiful, was quite attractive with a gorgeous smile, bright green eyes, and full lips. I had always considered her to be beautiful.

My mother had been very affectionate as I grew up, always giving me lots of hugs and kisses. Although normally quite outgoing, it was no small wonder that over the months following my dad’s death that mom nearly became a recluse, preferring to stay around the house. She rarely invited anyone into our home during that first year and other than going to work at the insurance agency, where she was the office manager, she only went to town to do her grocery shopping. When she was home, she spent most of her days in her nightie and dressing gown. She would sit on the couch for hours, quietly sip coffee, and sadly stare into space. I tried to help her out when I got home from school and on the weekends. I’d always volunteer to help her to clean the house, do yard work, and run errands. I tried to keep her company even when she was watching awful “girl” movies on TV. She would often cry, especially if something reminded her of my dad. I would embrace her and assure her that everything was going to be just fine. I’m not sure how comforting a thirteen year old kid could be, but mom clearly cherished my concern and attention and eventually seemed to depend on it.

I had passed through puberty when I was twelve and was right in the middle of a growth spurt about the time my dad had been killed. I had been just under than 5 foot 3 inches when I turned thirteen and was over 5’ 7” and weighed 150 pounds by the time I was sixteen. I had experienced all the usual adolescent changes, but the one that I was most embarrassed to me was my penis growth. My dick was exceptionally large and was something that I was unmercifully teased about by the other boys, particularly when we showered after gym classes at the junior high. They called me “baloney dick” and I guess that the name was appropriate, when compared to the size of my classmates. In later life it was something to be proud of, but to a self-conscious teenage boy it was an embarrassment. Anyway, once I passed through puberty, dramatic changes started to take place and I seemed to be in a constant state of horniness. I had frequent wet dreams and virtually any situation or incident at school, in the neighborhood, or at home would prompt me to get excited and my dick to stiffen. Not surprisingly, I focused a lot of my fantasies on the woman that I had the most contact with: my mother

The potential for difficulty began after one particularly awful crying session about six months after dad died. I was concerned, since it stretched out over several days and affected her so much that she called in sick rather than go into work. On the third night, my mother asked me if I would sleep with her and I said that I would. We cuddled and hugged before going to sleep. Although my mother was only being her affectionate self, I found that I was getting terribly excited by the closeness to her and her loving caresses and kissing. I was shocked and somewhat embarrassed, realizing that I had a full throbbing erection after just a few minutes. Now, I was barely sixteen
and should not have been surprised by that response. Although I was trying to be careful I was afraid that my hard dick may have touched my mother. As it was, that didn’t seem to have occurred and I eventually fell asleep.

I assumed that sleeping in my mother’s bed would only be an occasional thing but I soon realized that mom was comforted by my being there. The result was that I ended up sleeping with her virtually every night. The potential for something further happening was obvious, but at age sixteen I just didn’t realize what was going to transpire over the next few months. I did enjoy drifting off to sleep beside her and waking up in the morning to find her sleeping next to me. I had begun to masturbate before I’d even reached thirteen and realized that the closeness of my mother would excite me terribly. If I had an erection while lying next to her and she had fallen asleep, I’d carefully slip out of bed and go quietly into the bathroom to masturbate. I would imagine kissing my mother and fondling her tits while I jacked off sitting on the toilet. Initially that was just about as far as I let my imagination go. Even though I was careful, I was always afraid that my mother would somehow catch me masturbating. It would be particularly bad if she somehow deduced that I was thinking about her when I did it. Oh boy! That would be awful!

As the weeks passed, whenever she hugged or kissed me, I quickly found that I would get a powerful erection. After several months I also found that whenever I’d slip away during the day and jack off, I was constantly fantasizing about my mother. I never considered actually doing anything about my fantasies, but that was soon to change. One night, as I lay there in the dark along side of my mother, I had my first wild thoughts of actually fondling her while she was sleeping. She was softly breathing and lying on her back. Her head lolled to one side, facing away from me. I carefully rolled to my left side and faced her. She was wearing her favorite soft cotton nightgown and I could just make out the shape of her breasts in the dim glow of the bathroom’s night light. Warily I slid my hand over until I gently touched her. I was dreadfully afraid that I would somehow wake her up. Regardless, I softly fondled both of my mom’s breasts for several minutes. My dick had quickly become rigid and throbbing. Emboldened, I cautiously slipped my hand inside her nightie and I felt her hard little nipple. By now I had one hand on her tit and my other hand was on my dick. In my agitated state, it didn’t take long and before I could control it, I’d reached an orgasm and began cumming. Oh man! I shot out a series of quick squirts. “Oh shit!” I thought, “What a mess!” I realized that I had shot my load all over the sheet between me and mom. I was so afraid that I’d awakened her, but looking at her face and listening to her steady breathing, I realized that she was still sound asleep.

I slipped out of bed and quietly went to the bathroom to clean myself up I took a hand towel back to the bed, so I could carefully wipe up the cum from the sheet. Once I had cleaned up the wetness as much as I could, I returned to my own room and carefully hid the towel in my dresser drawer, realizing that I’d have to wash it out and put it into the laundry hamper in the morning. Satisfied that I’d been careful, I finally fell asleep beside my mother. That next morning I wasn’t sure what my mother’s actions would be. I was still concerned that I hadn’t been as careful as I should have been and there was also the residue of my cum on the sheet. However, she seemed perfectly normal and kissed my cheek as I left for school.

The following night I couldn’t fall asleep, as I began reliving my earlier experiences. After assuring myself that she was asleep, I began to fondle her again. I was more careful and prepared this time. By the time I was approaching orgasm, I slipped out of bed and hurried to the bathroom. As I pumped my dick and got closer to orgasm, I took out a wash cloth to contain and absorb my sperm. I finally stroked myself into orgasm, cumming into the wash rag. I followed the same routine for several weeks, fondling mom’s tits for ever longer periods of time. After my earlier successes, I eventually got so bold as to slip my hand down between her legs. She didn’t wear panties to bed, so I was able to slip my hand under the hem of her nightie and carefully began to touch and caress her pussy.