A Son Gets His Gorgeous Mother
On the night of my son's seventeenth birthday, it was a Friday, he had whispered into my ear.
"My next birthday, my eighteenth, is on a Saturday mom."
"Yes darling, I know that," I had replied, "why mention it now?" He looked me in the eye, and said, "You are the most incredibly beautiful woman on earth mom. I have not only loved you all my life, I have been in love with you all of my life too."
I had been the one whose knee he had sat on, the one who I had comforted while he was growing up. I shared all of his problems, I had loved him unconditionally. His father had never done that, so his growing up was all my doing. And when his dad left me for another woman, he didn't know it of course, but it was the biggest favour anyone had ever done me in all my life. That left Robbie and I together, and I could not have been happier.
"Mom," he had said, "I love you so much, and at one minute past midnight on the morning of my birthday, I am taking you to bed. I am going to love you, make love to you, make you mine, and we will get married as soon as possible, you will be my wife!" The look on my face could not have been forecast, priceless, shock, stunned, blank, and amazed, you name it, they were all there.
Then he had said over his shoulder as he walked away without a backward glance. "By the way mom, I'll remind you at the end of every month between now and then, just so you don't forget, okay?" I was speechless, I jus stood there in the kitchen in his wake, he was gone before I could even form a gurgle in my restricted throat.
I steadied my stance by gripping the counter top, my legs were shaky. My mind numbed, my son, my darling darling son had just told me he loved me. That he was going to take me to bed and make love to me, and that I was going to be his wife!
He is already about 3 or 4" taller than I, and about 30 or 40lbs heavier, and he is still growing, by the time he is eighteen he's going to tower over my 5ft 6" frame if he keeps it up. I had had Robbie early in my life because I believed a boy at school that he loved me. That we would run away together, so I succumbed at a very early age to that boy in my class.
I was 15 and bit at the time, but my parents stood by me, it was the end of school term anyway, so I left and continued my education at home under private tutorship. My mother took care of all the things to do with having a baby. I had not a clue what I had let myself in for. The boy was banned from me. I didn't mind that after I got over him. When I actually saw him for what he really was, I knew mom and dad had done the right thing.
So I brought Robbie into a world where he was loved from the off. My dad had trouble accepting him at first, but in the end he had to. Mom and I ganged up on him, and Robbie's little cute face did the rest. They were well off, my dad was a bank manager and well paid, plus he had his perks, shares and things. I never knew of any of this until the day of the storm. I was 22 years old by now.
I had met and married Donald, a man from dad's bank and we had our own home. But he never took to Robbie; I don't know why I even married him really, it just seemed the right thing to do, naïveté hey? I knew he wasn't up for my son, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. But it all changed when there was a hurricane, mom and dad were driving home from a bank function, and their car was swept off the road, into a river and they both drowned.
That left me, their only child everything they had, the house, his and her monies, insurances, and stocks and shares. I of course, would have gladly given it all away for just one more day with them. It took months to realise their estate, it was all tied up with solicitors. I didn't care, and when papers were sent for me to sign, I could take a month or more to send them back. Or I wouldn't bother to turn up for discussions etc.
Then Donald left me, he sited pressures of work, the strain of me losing my mom and dad, all sorts of things. I wasn't sorry to see him go. Then he had the cheek to file a claim for a half of everything my parents had specifically left me and Robbie in their wills. Needless to say, he was given short shrift by my solicitors, who also worked for the bank, and a month later he left. No reason given, he was gone, the bank let him go.
Anyway to cut a long story short I was left with a pile of money, lots of shares, that I had no idea what to do with except to leave them in the banks hands to handle for me. And I receive a nice monthly cheque too, thank you very much. The house was mine, I sold my own, and moved back home, it was nice being near my parents, I felt safe, and Robbie was a little diamond.
So our life together began, I didn't go out a lot, I didn't like leaving him, but I did sometimes go clubbing with a girlfriend, and don't get me wrong, I'm no paragon of virtue, no shrinking violet. I had sex with some of the guys we met, but I never once thought to see them again. No one ever rocked my boat so to speak.
We are in every sense of the word, normal. Robbie has his friends, and the odd girlfriend, so I was happy to know he was good to go! I have a few friends too, and Robbie and I get on great, we are sometimes like brother and sister as opposed to mother and son. I suppose the age gap has something to do with it, as I'm only sixteen years older than he is. We do things together and I rely on him for the solid support he always shows me. I have tried to be a model mom, I hope? I have gone to sports days, class things, trips, you name it, I was there.
I haven't told you about me really have I? You know who I am but not what I look like, or the type of persona I yield. I am 5ft 6" tall, weigh around 120lbs. I've got all my niggle bits where they should be, they annoy me sometimes, why? It's because I can find myself getting aroused in a supermarket or shop, simply because I have the wrong material rubbing against me.
My hair is a reddish auburn, I highlight it because it makes me look younger, Robbie says so anyway, and that's good enough for me. And it comes just past my shoulders, I have a fringe that drops into my eyes, I like the feel of it on my long lashes. I am still young enough to wear it long. And again Robbie likes it too. I am pretty to look at my face is my best feature, although last week Robbie made a nice comment about my bum!
I have a good figure, I like it just the way it is, and my favourite underwear are stockings, suspenders, flimsy, filmy, and lacy garments. I always wear heels when I go out, and I don't use a lot of make up, I learned early on that if you look okay, you don't need all that much. I have to confess I do miss a man's touch sometimes. But after Donald there won't be another one in my life if I can help it. I've got Robbie, he'll do me, and I mean that in the way of, he's all I need.
Picking up after a man, smelly socks, dirty underpants, breaking wind, doing his washing and ironing while he sits reading the paper, or pops to the pub? No thank you, not any more! I do it for Robbie because he is my responsibility. So back to him, and the future. I started looking at him in a new light, I began to see him as the young man he was, not my baby, although he will always be that no matter what happens in a year's time.
I also found myself unconsciously making sure I was looking a bit better than I usually did when he came home from being out, or whatever. I also had to remind myself that this growing young man was still my son, even if the age gap was narrowish a little. But his bald confidant statement, "Mom, one minute past midnight on my birthday, I'm taking you to bed!" It had got to me, I thought about it constantly. I wasn't obsessing about it, but it was as simple as that.
A month later, on the last day, just before he went to bed, he whispered, "don't forget mom, there's 11 months to go," and he was off. I sniggered, why I don't know, I still wasn't thinking clearly about this. I hadn't or wasn't giving it the attention I should have. But in my head, I thought, 11 months? He'll have a girlfriend by then and forgotten about all this.
Then 11 months became 6, became 3, and then became one. He was being extra nice to me, buying me flowers, doing things around the house. Making meals, or should I say he was trying to, ha ha ha ha ha. One night he produced a bottle of my favourite perfume, which I hadn't been able to get for at least two years, but he had somehow. It was presented with a big hug, a press of him into me, that cowed me because I wasn't expecting it, and strong kisses on my cheeks.
Then there were the flowers, little touches, kisses, more of them on my cheek, hugs, lots of them, and in his bright grey eyes, were the words. "I'm taking you to bed mom!" I began to fret a little now; it had also got me excited too. We were playing a game, but as the date neared, the connotations became more and more pronounced. "I'm taking you to bed mom!"
He seemed, although I can't say for sure, to be showing off his body a bit more. As a woman, and as his mother, I was proud to see him so fit and so well. But also as a woman I had to notice the definite chiselled shape about him, his lithe body, and his rippling muscles. The strength oozing out from his assuredness, the confidence he carried with him. He has far more than I ever did at that age.
I began to wonder what was going to happen 'on the night?' I found myself picturing the scene. Of him leading me slowly to bed, him picking me up in his arms, and carrying me there, undressing me while loving me, telling me how much he loved me. And me surrendering to him with a howl of passion.
Then reality would rear its head, 'what the hell are you playing at Kelly?' I would say to myself, 'he is your son, not someone you have met at a dance and brought back for a nights fucking!' But the other reality was, I didn't know now what I would do when the time came, if he would even carried out his threat to take me to bed.
But on the night before, he had told me he was making us a special dinner, he had bought some very expensive wine. He made me go out for a few hours, I went my friends, and she knew something was on my mind. But there was no way I could tell her about what I thought might happen.
But before I went, I couldn't stop myself from selecting my attire for 'our' evening. I of course had bought some very special underwear. Well, a girl can't have a special dinner, and not be dressed for the part can she? I also picked out an above knee dinner dress; it was a bit like a cocktail dress too. It was low cut, square across the top of my boobs, and little straps over the shoulders. And it was red rose colour; it contrasted terrifically with my hair. I was going to wear a bra, but decided to leave it off; I didn't want the straps showing.
So the scene was set, I was walking into this with my eyes wide shut! I was playing my part for him, without realising I was flying headlong into a possible sexual affair with my son. But it had been creeping up on me for 11 months. I had known about it, and I done nothing about it. And now the clock was ticking down. At the back of my mind, I just couldn't see him doing anything like he had said he was going to do.
I couldn't have been more wrong, he intended to do the very thing he had told me, and I for so long had ignored the possible consequences. When I got home, he was in the kitchen.
"Hi mom, dinners ready in about 45 minutes, do you want to go and make yourself look more beautiful, if that's ever possible?" he added. I smiled happily at him, I do love him so much.
He came to me, put his arms around me and said. "I love you mom, you know I do don't you?"
"Yes darling I do," I answered him, "and I love you too." He kissed my cheek, and patted then rubbed my bum, "Mmmm that's so nice mom," he told me. "Now off you go or you'll be late," he spun me round and gently guided me out of the kitchen.
"Pasta," he told me, "keeps your strength up." I turned around to ask him what he meant but his back was to me, and he was busy, so I went upstairs to get ready. It was about then I understood what had been going on. He had led me by innuendo and small words, touches, gifts, niceties, and so much love, into the place I was now. And I further realised that I had accepted it, even helped him in the way I had responded and behaved.
I dressed in all the things I had early selected, put dangly earrings in, the ones he likes. I was doing every thing with him in mind. I was presenting myself to him, for his approval, when it should have been the other way around. I put my heels on and I checked myself out. I looked as good as I ever had, if not even better. I felt a thrill shoot through me.
The school girl in me was excited as I ever had been. I suddenly needed his approval, to see the look on his face when he saw me dressed like this, and knowing it was just for him. The hidden treasures under my dress were filling me with arousal, although I was feeling giddy, I never associated it was sexual heat that was warming me for him
I was taking a leading hand now, I was no longer imagining what was going to happen, I was actively working toward it. It had all seemed like wishful thinking 11 months ago, now it was upon me, and I didn't know how to even react. I had gone along with him, laughed and giggled, started looking at him in a different light, even dressing a bit better for him, making myself look better for him. And now it was the night, and I was looking as good as I ever had. And I had done it all for him, Robbie, my soon to be 18 year old son.
He called to me that dinner was ready, so I took a deep breath and made my entrance, the look on his face was priceless, his cheeks flushed, his mouth dropped open, and then he whispered.
"Oh mom, you look absolutely stunning, I have never seen you look as beautiful as you do tonight. You are very definitely, 'My, Lady in red!' It was the title of the song, "You are gorgeous mom." I felt absolutely terrific; the compliment could not have been made any better than that. He hurried to me, and gave me a hug that said a lot, it was a definite 'hello' hug.
He sat me down, pushing my chair under me, the perfect gentleman. HE was wearing a tux, with a bow tie, he had a cummerbund on too, and he looked so good my heart burst, it did a flip to see my son dressed this way; he looked every inch THE MAN!
He had done a Prawn cocktail for a starter, Tuna pasta bake, and Profiteroles (my favourite) for dessert. We had a bottle of wine, he had one glass, I had the rest. Candles centred on the table, and big bunch of my favourite red roses for me. He was the most attentive host, we chatted about this about that, and also about our life together, he told me he would not be the person he was if it wasn't for me. He held his glass up to me, and said, "I am the man I am today because of you mom."
I raised my glass and toasted him. "To my super good looking son, I am proud to be your mom, and I am the person I am, simply because of you Robbie," I answered, and then a tear trickled down my face. I was so emotional, I did love him, I really did. He dabbed my tear away, saying.
"You'll never have cause to cry again mom, unless they are tears of happiness and joy," he said solemnly.
He pulled his chair next to mine and put his arm around me, it felt so natural, so comforting. I rested my head on his shoulder and cried again, I was so happy. He kissed the top of my head and shushed me, "There there mom," he said, as he hugged me to him, "don't cry please, I will make you happy, you believe me, don't you?" All I could do was nod my head as the tears trickled down my face.
He reached across to his iPod, which was propped up on the side cabinet, he pressed the on button and it flickered to life. On the screen appeared a real time picture of Big Ben in London, it was 11.55pm. "6 minutes to go," I told myself. I knew now that he had won any argument we might have had in our heads. He had spent the year seducing me, or working me into the place I needed me to be. And now I was sat in our dining room, my son had his arm around me, and I was wishing those minutes would fly by.
Then suddenly, the tolling of St Peter began to ring out, it was striking midnight. I risked a sideways glance at him, to quickly see him giving me one. How could my young son be so adult, so in control of himself, of the situation, me? I guessed it must have been because he had lived with all of this for a year. And not really been too sure if his wish, his plans, would come to fruition.
"Kelly," he said to me, this was the first time he had ever used my first name with intent. "Come on beautiful lady, it's time."
"Darling," I whispered, not daring to look at him, "do you realise what you are doing, about to do, do even I?"
"Yes Kelly," he said quietly, "I have never been surer in my life of anything." He stood up and held out his hand. The bells stopped pealing; it was one minute past midnight.
I stood and put my hand in his, I felt dizzy, giddy, it was like being a girl again. I turned towards him, he came to me, took me in his arms and gazed so directly into my eyes, it mesmerised me. Then the first kiss, it was soft, gentle, sweet and short, he pulled away. I guess he was gauging my reaction, his eyes were still fixed on mine, and then he kissed me again, this time it was a man's kiss, a lovers kiss.
I found myself tasting it, feeling it, I liked it, my arms went up and around his neck. The kiss deepened, we closed in on each other, we were now head to toe, body to body, and I could feel his hardness. He was ready, oh was he ready. I opened my eyes as we kissed, they fell on the iPod.
I giggled in the kiss, he pulled away again, and I said softly.
"Its four minutes past midnight darling."
He smiled; those few words I had just spoken confirmed my commitment to him.
"Kelly Dawn Brady," he said commandingly, "we are going upstairs right now, come along!" He tugged me by the hand behind him, and off we went. I followed him upstairs and I was actually trying to think of a reason not to do this, but do you know what? I couldn't, and the reason for that was I realised, I didn't want to.
He went straight to my bedroom, bypassing his, hauling me behind him. He turned pulled me to him again, and again we kissed, this time the kiss was more passionate. I was warming up. I was in the arms of a strong, youthful and virile young man, and I liked it. I could feel his cock pressing into me and it was hard, just like the rest of him. His whole body was hard, powerful, demanding, wanting and needing, how was I to deny my son, my own flesh and blood.
It had been a long time since I had felt the warm touch of a man's hand, the nearness, I began to realise how much I needed it myself, the want, the closeness, the bonding of flesh. I also knew for a near certainty that Robbie wouldn't last more than a few seconds. I was almost sure he was a virgin, but even if he wasn't, then he hadn't got much experience. I knew that as soon as he got near me with his prick he would blow, or as soon as he got it in me. Maybe even I holding him would cause him to erupt; I hoped not for his sake, I hoped he would at least get it in me.
Then I could hold him tight whilst he settled somewhat, this may all sound mercenary, but I really wanted him to feel the accomplishment of seducing me. I reached behind me with one hand, the other over my shoulder, I unclipped the hook and started pulling the zip down, he sensed what I was doing and took over, the zip got all the way and I dropped my arms,, he slid the straps off my shoulders and I shrugged my dress down.
He stared at me in utter amazement, I think that he understood now that I wanted this to happen, to be with him, and eventually to become his if that's what he wanted. I wanted to belong again, belong to a man, and belong to him. He was my sole focus now, if he really wanted me, well here I was giving myself to him for all time.