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Falling in Love with Mom

12

My first story. Not very original, but I welcome all comments.

I am extremely grateful to GrandTeton for taking the time out to edit this. Thanks GT.

All characters are above 18.

*************************

How do you fall in love with your own Mother? Speaking for myself, it didn't take much of an effort. Ever since I can remember it has always been Mom and me. I didn't know my father and didn't have the slightest interest in finding out about him. Sure we had grandma, but once grandpa bought the farm, she moved to a retirement home in sunny Florida and we only saw her once or twice a year.

I never asked my Mother about my father. I knew she had been hurt by him and I didn't want her to relive the memories. The story I gleaned from grandma was that he had convinced Mom that he loved her and he had promised marriage. Then when he found out Mom was pregnant with me, he disappeared.

Rat Bastard.

Mom worked for a mid-sized national accounting firm. I was proud of her - finishing college while changing my diapers was no mean feat. She was always there for me, be it the lame plays I was in when I was a kid, or coming to watch my baseball games. The firm she worked for had a competitive environment, and I was sure she could have risen to the top had she not dedicated so much of her time to me. Coming home on time instead of working late, taking her vacation time so we could go around the country, spending the weekends with me instead of going to the office, all probably caused her to lose out on a few promotions. I did love her to bits for sacrificing so much for me.

I used to be waiting for her when she came home from work. By that time I had done my homework. The spare time I had, I used to help around the house. By that I mean doing the laundry, mowing the lawn or keeping everything neat and tidy. I loved her unconditionally and I really wanted to show how much I appreciated her. I was the model son - I don't think I had ever given her a reason to raise her voice at me.

Mom would come home in the evening and the first thing she would do was give me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. I would return the hug, loving the feel of her soft, warm body against mine. With that done, she would walk upstairs to her bedroom, asking me about my day and telling me about hers, and I would follow her like a lovesick puppy. And then she would strip for me.

Don't get the wrong idea. I'm sure when it first started it was innocent and harmless. I used to be in her bedroom, and she had to change out of the clothes she wore to work. And since we were already in the middle of a conversation it didn't make sense for her to ask me to leave.

She had a large mirror on one of the walls, with the dresser next to it. She would make sure to always turn away from me as she undressed. Now I was a red-blooded male, and it didn't take me long to realize I was getting the show of my life in the mirror. I'm sure she knew I was watching her, but she never did say anything, she just kept our conversation going. I also tried to act as normal as I could while watching my gorgeous Mother take off her clothes.

First she would unbutton her blouse. Her breasts, hidden by her bra, would be revealed for my hungry eyes. They were big and firm. On her small frame they looked absolutely spectacular. I used to cherish the days she would wear a slightly smaller bra, which caused her tits to almost spill out, creating a deep 'V' of cleavage.

Then she would unzip her skirt. I never quite knew where to look at that moment. She would swing and wiggle her hips to try and get the skirt to drop her down. This caused her delightfully saucy butt and her tits to jiggle simultaneously, so I was always trying my best to soak in both of them.

Once down to her underwear, she would sit in front of the dresser and brush her hair. Occasionally, she would apply some cream to her legs and arms. All the while she would keep up our conversation. I used this time to study her. Her flawless complexion. Her lustrous brown hair. The pretty face with her cute little button nose. Her generous breasts which I yearned to touch and her cleavage where I wished to bury my face.

And while she would be brushing her hair, Mom would always be looking in the mirror, right back at me. Inevitably, once I was done checking her out, I would move my eyes up and our eyes would meet. I would blush a deep crimson at having been caught, but I never would break eye contact with her. I thought she was gorgeous, and while I was embarrassed, I wasn't ashamed at being caught looking at her; I did not want to apologize. And she never did say anything. She would smile, and I would find myself smiling too.

She would proceed to her closet, where she would take out one of her gowns. Putting it one, she would turn away from me, and once hidden from my prying eyes, she would reach behind her back and unhook her bra, discarding it on the bed. Then, she would pull the gown close and turn towards me with a bright smile. Ruffling my hair, she would tell me that she was going to get started on dinner and to meet her downstairs in fifteen.

I would use this time to scurry to my room and masturbate.

When I joined her downstairs for dinner, we would continue talking. Me about school or my teachers. She about her work or her friends. The new gaming console I wanted to buy. The new book she wants to read.

After dinner, I would help her clear away the dishes. She would thank me and we would walk upstairs. Then once we reached the top of the stairs, she would draw me into a warm hug and gently kiss me goodnight on the cheek. As she whispered in my ear how much she loved me, I would revel in the comforting warmth and softness of her breasts, separated from me by only her thin gown. I would gaze at her longingly and lovingly, and then she'd go into her bedroom and I would retreat into mine, proceeding to furiously masturbate again to my thoughts and fantasies of Mom. I never felt any guilt; I never felt like I was doing anything wrong in thinking of my Mother in such a way. Yes, I did know that most sons don't think of their mothers like this, but I loved her, and I knew she loved me. Maybe not in the way I did, but it was something.

And to quote an oft repeated phrase, "how can love be wrong?"

*************************

Some things change as time passes. I grew taller and my body filled out and got some definition. I didn't play any sport, but jogging in the morning and an occasional trip to the gym kept me in pretty good shape. Once finished with school, I enrolled for part-time classes at the local college and started working part-time at a small financial advisory firm. The hours were easy but the work was challenging, yet I didn't find it too tough. I guess I got the gift of numbers from Mom.

In my eyes, the passing years had made Mom even more beautiful than ever. She had let her dark brown hair grow a bit longer, so it now fell just below her shoulder instead of just above. She was still the same 5'2" - about a foot shorter than me - but had gained a few pounds. Nothing too extreme, and even though she would often whine and complain to me that she needed to lose some weight, I thought those extra pounds made her look even more desirable and sexy. They seemed to have gone to her chest, and I swear her breasts looked even bigger than they had been.

(For the record, I did not know what her cup size was. Even though I was a huge pervert by pretty much any standards - fantasizing about and masturbating to my Mother - I respected her privacy too much to go around snooping in her underwear drawer.)

Some things didn't change. My twentieth birthday was a few months away, yet I continued living with Mom. I could have moved out to a place of my own had I wanted. I didn't. We never discussed my moving out; we were both content with the status quo. I don't think either of us could bear the thought of us not living together.

I had started helping around the house a lot more: doing small repairs, washing and waxing her car, or anything else that the 'man' of the house should do. The money I was earning helped. I would often buy small things for Mom: a pair of earrings I saw in the mall - not very expensive - but I knew they would look nice on her, or a large bouquet of flowers, or some Swiss chocolates, just because.

I was actually quite proud of my role in the house. I began to see myself as the man in my Mother's life. I knew Mom had never dated since she gave birth to me. I guess being abandoned by the prick that is my father had turned her bitter. I didn't blame her, and I was determined to fill the void in her life.

Secretly, I was glad she didn't date. I couldn't bear the thought of Mom being with anyone else. I wanted her all for myself. Selfish? Very. I have to admit, I did go out with a few girls in high school. I did end up losing my virginity to one of them when I was 18, and even though she told me repeatedly how great the sex had been, I felt hollow and empty afterwards. Strangely enough, I felt like I was cheating on Mom. I thought of how she would be alone in bed, probably reading a book and waiting for me to get home. How could I have abandoned her like that? I swore to myself to always be there for her. Stupid and juvenile maybe, but after that I hardly ever dated in college. Mom was the only girl for me.

Like I said, some things don't change. Every evening when Mom came home from work, she would find me waiting for her. The huge smile she had for me would make the wait worthwhile. She would give me a hug and a loving kiss. Then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, she would walk upstairs, and I would faithfully follow her up to her bedroom. And as we talked, I would watch her undress.

*************************

It was Friday. I was beat and looking forward to some R&R over the weekend. I had a couple of classes in the morning, and then from noon till four-thirty I was at work. I got home just around five.

I didn't really have much to do so I used the time to take a quick shower and change into a comfortable pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Then I went into the kitchen and started fixing things up for dinner. While I did help around the house as much as I could, I was clueless in the kitchen and couldn't boil water to save my life. I took out some chicken from the freezer for Mom to make and then set the table. Oh, and I prepared a simple salad for our dinner and kept it in the fridge. That much I can manage.

At six, I head her car pull into the driveway. She walked into the door and put her purse on the coffee table. Spotting me, she gave me a big smile.

"Hi sweetie," she said, wrapping her arms around me and giving me a peck on the cheek. "Boy, am I glad for the weekend. I thought the day would never end."

"Hi Mom," I replied, returning her hug and giving her cheek a kiss of my own. "Yeah, I'm looking forward to the weekend too."

She sighed contentedly and nuzzled her head against my chest. "Come on upstairs then, and tell me about your day. Did you take something out of the freezer for dinner? Chicken? Great."

Obediently, I followed her upstairs and into her bedroom. She kept chattering about work and I was content to just look and listen.

"That Kim is such a bitch," she muttered under her breath as she kicked off her heels. I chuckled. She rarely ever used bad language and I always found it hilarious when she swore or cursed around me.

"Language, missy," I said in the sternest voice I could manage.

She rolled her eyes at me but suppressed a smile as she began unbuttoning her light blue blouse. Very modest, nary a hint of cleavage. Until her bra-enclosed breasts appeared in the mirror, that is. She was wearing a black bra; one of my favorites (though honestly speaking, any bra she wears is my favorite). Nothing too racy or fancy, but it did a remarkable job of pushing her tits together. I hungrily drank in the sight of her cleavage.

With the blouse out of the way, she unbuttoned her skirt - a black conservative piece that reached slightly below her knees. Wiggling her butt, she let it drop to the floor and my attention was directed from her breasts to her ass, enclosed in a matching pair of black panties. Her ass looked delectable. Her legs looked even more delicious. I was as hard as I could ever be.

Mom sat her pretty little butt down near the dresser. Picking up a tissue paper, she began removing the light make-up she had put on in the morning.

"So Danny boy, it's Friday night. What are your plans? Got a hot date tonight?" she asked.

I forced myself to stop leering at her and looked up. My eyes met hers in the mirror and she was looking right back at me. A small smile lingered around her lips.

"No plans, Mom," I answered. "Just looking forward to spending some quality time with my favorite gal."

She sighed as she picked up her hair brush and began running it though her hair. "You really need to get out a bit sweetie. I hardly ever see you with any girls. You can't stay with your old Mommy for your entire life can you?"

"Why not, Mom? The last twenty odd years have been pretty great, don't you think? Let's aim for another twenty. And besides, every girl I've met so far at college has been an idiot."

She put the hair brush down and shook her head rather theatrically, causing her breasts to jiggle delightfully and forcing me to look at them again. "I might have thought you were gay but at least I know that's not the case," she said with a grin, meeting my eyes in the mirror. Busted again.

Still smiling, she got up and made her way to the closet and took out her light pink nightgown.

Every other night, EVERY other night, she had turned away from me as she put on her gown and THEN reached behind to unhook her bra. Not tonight.

Facing me, she casually reached behind and unhooked the snaps of her bra. My mouth went dry. With a slight shrug of her shoulders, the bra slipped to the floor, baring her naked breasts to me in all their glory.

I'm always hard while I watch my Mother undress, yet over the years, I have learnt enough to keep a small part of my brain functioning in order to be able to make basic conversation. Unfortunately, once I saw her naked tits, the small portion of blood that keeps my brain going abandoned ship and fled down to my cock. I have NEVER been harder or more aroused in my life than at that moment.

Where do I start? How can I even begin to describe how incredible my Mother's breasts are? I had got brief glimpses over the years but never the full show. Full. Ripe. Supple. Fantastic. Magnificent. Tempting. I used to think they were large, but they were LARGE. Like two generous scoops of vanilla ice-cream. Her areolas were a pinkish-brown. Her nipples were dead centered and I swear I could hear them calling out to me to suck them. A very slight hint of sag, but to me that made them all the more sexier.

I was vaguely aware that Mom was still talking to me. Maybe. I don't know. I'm pretty sure my heart had stopped beating for those few glorious moments. Maybe I had died and gone to heaven and these were the pearly gates I had heard about. She reached for the gown and put it on.

"Sweetie?" she repeated, pulling her gown close and breaking the spell she had on me.

"Wha ma?" I managed to get out.

"I said could you come downstairs and help me around the kitchen in a bit?"

"Sure Mom," I managed to croak.

Giving my painfully obvious and painfully aroused cock an amused glance, she walked out to make dinner.

*************************

Having heroically managed to subdue my boner, I went downstairs to help Mom with dinner. Well, not really. As I have mentioned, cooking really isn't my forte, and with the salad done, there really wasn't much else for me to do. So I just stood in a corner and stared at her as she busied herself around the kitchen. God, I loved her so much it actually hurt.

We kept chatting away as she went about preparing our meal. I'm not really a people person, but it was sooo easy talking to Mom. I really loved telling her about my boring day. I loved listening to her. I loved making her laugh - my heart would jump when I succeeded. I felt that I could - and I did - tell her anything and everything.

Except about my incestuous infatuation of course.

"Soul mates," I mumbled under my breath during a pause in our conversation.

"What's that honey?"

"Uh, nothing Mom," I mumbled rather lamely. How I wished I could tell her how I felt.

She turned around and looked at me, and she still had that small, mysterious smile on her lips. I could have sworn she was reading my mind. She walked up to me and put her hands on my chest, causing my heart to flutter.

"Well, I'm all done here, so why don't you take out a bottle of wine for us to share over dinner?"

"Really?" I asked, somewhat surprised. I was old enough to drink but had never drank alcohol in her presence.

"Really," she said. Standing on her tip-toes she gave me a light kiss on the corner of my mouth. "Hurry up sweetie, don't keep Mommy waiting," she said with a small giggle.

Dinner with Mom was always pleasant, but tonight it was even better - I think the wine helped loosen us up even more. I had had hard liquor before, so I didn't expect a glass of red to affect me much, but it did. Mom too. I think it was that we were so comfortable around each other that the wine just aided and abetted. I knew that neither of us were anywhere close to drunk, but it was fun acting like it and going with the flow.

There was still half a bottle of wine left, so while I cleared the dishes, Mom filled both of our glasses and suggested we move to the couch.

Any physical contact with her was more than welcome and I readily agreed. With our glasses on the side table, Mom snuggled up to me, resting her head on my chest. I gently stroked her hair, both of us happily content.

"This feels good," she whispered.

"I know Mom. I love being with you. I wouldn't give this up for anything in the world."

She raised her head up from my chest and looked at me. There was a strange expression on her face that I had never seen before.

"Do you really mean that, honey?"

"Of course I do, Mom."

"Earlier in the evening...you...you said that I was your favorite gal, did you really mean that sweetheart?"

I moved my hand from her hair and gently stroked her cheek. "I do Mom," I said softly. "You always have been and always will be my favorite girl. You are my life. I love you so much. More than anything else in the world." I kissed her gently on the top of her head.

"I love you too, sweetheart. You are my everything. I'm never more happier than when I am with you."

I looked at her with all the love I had for her and I hoped she could see what I felt. And when I looked into her eyes I realized that she did, and that she felt it too.

We were in love. I always knew that I loved her like a man loves a woman. And while I always knew she loved me as a son, it took me the better part of nearly twenty years to realize that she loved me too, like a woman loves a man.

"I love you," we said at the same time.

We kissed. I cannot blame it on the wine, because I don't want to and because it would be a lie. I don't know who initiated it; I like to think we both did simultaneously. Before I knew it she was kissing me with more love and passion that I had ever known or experienced. And I was kissing her back. It was incredible. I had never kissed or been kissed like that. It was hot, wet and loving. There was no hesitation on either of our parts. I had bared my soul, my deepest desire, to her and she reciprocated. There was no going back now.

Tiny electric shocks ran down my body as I felt her tongue touch mine, I moved my hand down and gently yet firmly cupped her breast from above the gown. She moaned into my mouth but never stopped kissing me. I slowly undid her gown until her breasts lay bare for me. I cupped them, feeling their warmth. I marveled at how incredible they felt in my hands. Amazing. Better than I had ever imagined or dreamed. Soft, firm, warm, tender...I cannot describe the feelings coursing through me as my lifelong dream of touching my Mother's breasts came true. I gently pinched and tugged at her nipples, causing her to moan and giggle into my mouth.

12
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