Hamstrung Mom

byMaryAnderson©

Over the past months I've read several stories, including (no offense intended to the excellent stories I've left out) HeyAll's Bed Sharing with Mom, fasthand's Mother Examining Son, and Cockhole's Mom's Penis Treatment, where medical treatment administered by a mother to a son leads to a more intimate connection. Those stores inspired this one, in which it is the son who tends to the mother.

I expect to post Chapter 2 of Luckiest Guy I Know within the fortnight.

As always, all story characters engaged in sexual activities are eighteen years of age or older.

* * * * *

I was doing squats with Jo Anne and Cheryl, two of my three closest friends - my son had dubbed the four of us the "posse," a name we and most of our friends had adopted - when I felt a wicked pain in the back of my leg. Jo Anne and Cheryl must have seen it on my face, for they immediately grabbed the barbell and put it back in place, then helped me back to my small office where we were joined by my son, who knelt, held my leg by the ankle, and said, "Hamstring?"

"Yeah."

Running his hand up the back of my leg he said,"Tell me when I hit the spot."

I winced. "Right there."

"It's warm, but I don't feel any swelling. How big is it, can I cover it with just a finger?"

Blowing out a long breath, concentrating on the sensation, I said, "Yeah, I think so, but just."

"Now straighten it, good, try standing."

Holding on to Jo Anne and Cheryl for support I stood, took a step. It hurt. Sitting back down I said, "What's the prognosis doc?"

My son looked up at me, smiled, and said, "Well, at least you didn't strain your sense of humor. You pulled it, not severely, but enough. You should stay off it, but..."

He'd anticipated the pained expression on my, Cheryl, and Jo Anne's faces.

"... you have that NPC competition in three weeks, for which you've been busting your butt, and aren't going to. It'd be best to ice it, stay off it tonight, and we'll check in the morning."

"I've got a date with Karl tonight."

My son made his "I don't care how cute he is, Karl is a self-centered narcissistic butt-head" face, but said nothing. Cheryl said it for him: "Call him and cancel."

I said, "Well, you know how he gets, but yeah, I'll do it."

* * * * *

Karl whined, said it was a big deal, that he'd busted his ass to get these reservations, that it was the "it" place and he wanted to be seen there with his hot girlfriend. I objected, told him about the injury, agreed to go on the date.

At dinner, when I talked about my leg, Karl'd interrupt, tell me I'd be fine, that it wasn't the biggest thing in the world, injuries happen, can't be helped, there'd be other competitions, then we talked about Karl.

* * * * *

As Karl dropped me off and I limped up the walkway to our small rented house, full of anger and pain and frustration, I was glad he wasn't walking me to the door. If I heard one more empty assurance that I'd be fine I might have bitten his fricking head off. My plan was to crawl into bed and cry myself to sleep, but my son had left the living room light on. When I went to turn it off I found him sleeping on the couch, his tablet and several open textbooks on the table before him. I sat down and ran a hand through his short brown hair.

"Hey sleepy head."

He opened his eyes. "I must have dozed off."

"Up late studying?"

He shook his head, regained his focus, and said, "No, I was reading about hamstrings. How are you feeling?"

"It tightened up. You were right, I should have stayed home and put ice on it. Heck, the meal wasn't even that good."

"I put some ice packs in the freezer, we can do it now. Then, after you get ready for bed, I'll take a look at it. I do have some good news."

"I could use some. What is it?"

"You have an appointment, first thing in the morning at Proteus."

Proteus was the best, and most expensive, sports medicine clinic in the city. I worked as an attendant at a twenty-four fitness place, child support had ended when Ryan turned eighteen, and while his father paid the community college's minimal tuition, that didn't help with household expenses.

"Honey, that's sweet, but there's no insurance. I can't afford Proteus."

"No problem. I texted Dean Johnson about what happened. She contacted Proteus, called in a favor, got you an appointment first thing in the morning, no charge. I'll go with you, they'll show me how I can help. I mean, if that's okay."

My pain and frustration temporarily forgotten, I hugged my son in unrestrained joy.

* * * * *

Ryan, the product of an ill-advised liaison with a married older man, was the one constant in my life. Preternaturally mature, he declined to follow his friends to the de rigeur four year college life of parties, beer, and girls, and instead spent his senior year in high school at a local community college studying to be a physical therapist assistant. Now, finishing his second year, he was about to get his degree. Soon he'd be making more money than me.

I don't want him to sound too nerdy, he liked to go out, had friends, had girlfriends, although none at the moment, and while he did not share my love of body-building, he ran, especially mountain trails, rock climbed, swam, and was a regular at the gym, where he moved his share of kettle bells.

* * * * *

I showered, put on panties and a short robe, and checked the clock. Well past Ryan's usual bed-time, I called down the hall, "Honey, I'm ready, but are you sure? It's late."

Ryan, still in his bedroom, said, "Of course I am. It's important you get treatment as soon as possible, you've got a championship to win. Go ahead and lie down I'll be there in a minute."

I did, and when he came into the room he stopped, looked me, and said, "Mom, what you've done with your body is amazing."

After my miserable day, that was nice to hear, even from my son.

"You don't think it's too much? Some guys don't like all these muscles on a girl."

"Well, you can't account for taste, but I think you're beautiful."

Studying my leg he got onto the bed and said, "It's definitely strained, there's some bruising and swelling but I don't think you tore anything," then ran his fingers along the front of my leg and said, "There's some tightness in your quadriceps. After this is over I'll show you some new ways to stretch."

Then he placed his hands on my butt.

I jerked; his hands flew off my rear.

"Sorry Mom, shoulda asked, my mistake, it's just that weak glutes can contribute to a hamstring pull. I wanted to check, but..."

"No, sorry I overreacted, I was surprised. Go ahead."

He placed his hands on my butt and I, at his request, tightened my rump.

"Not an issue for you, you're real strong here."

Returning to my thigh, he massaged every knot and fiber; then, when done, he stood and excused himself, said he'd be right back. When I reached down to straighten my robe I found that its hem lay across my waist; I hadn't realized how far it had crept up my body during the massage. Pulling my robe back in place I sat up as Ryan returned, handed me a glass of water and two pills, and said, "NPC rules allow non-prescription anti-inflammatories. I did some research, these are the best for your injury."

After I swallowed them I said, "I appreciate your taking such good care of me. Do you have any idea whether I can, I mean...," then started crying. Ryan lay down, held me until I was cried out, when, in a voice still blubbery, I said, "I'm sorry, you must think I'm a big baby."

"No, I think you're spectacular. We'll know more tomorrow, but it could have been far worse and you're in incredible shape. We'll find a way."

* * * * *

Dr. Melissa Brown, something of a local legend, she'd been an All-American soccer player at the state university, was examining my leg.

"How long after the injury did you get ice on it?"

Ryan said, "Not til late that night, maybe six hours, then again this morning."

"Why the delay?"

Jumping in I said, "That's on me. Ryan wanted to ice it right away, but my boyfriend and I had a date planned. Ryan suggested I cancel, but he insisted we go out."

She said, "My stern wise medical advice: if it happens again, listen to your son," then turned to Ryan and said, "What else did you do?"

"I massaged it last night."

"That explains why the knotting isn't as bad as anticipated. You did a good job."

"Thank you ma'am."

"Would you go ahead and wrap it."

He did and, unconsciously nodding her head, Dr. Brown asked a couple of questions, then said, "Good job."

"Thank you ma'am."

"Ryan, you've done good work here, I'll mention it to Dr. Johnson. Leeann, stay off it, ice it every three to four hours, stay off it, keep it elevated, ice it, stay off it. Take the anti-inflammatory per instructions only, if you start gulping them it may disqualify you from the competition."

"You mean I'll be ready for the competition?"

"It we do this right, I can give you a definite maybe. If you feel up to it and your son says it's okay you can return to careful limited, very careful, very limited, work-outs. The best we can realistically hope for is maintenance intensity. Listen to Ryan, and Ryan, keep me advised, I'll see you in a week."

Then, discarding her authoritative manner, she said, "Both of you, call me Melissa. Leeann what you've done with your body is remarkable, you should be proud. You can win this thing, but be careful. There'll be other competitions."

* * * * *

At the gym I sat behind my desk, leg elevated, icing it per instructions. If someone had to be shown something there was a volunteer ready to help. My son began his work-out at 5:00; the posse filtered in between 5:15 and 5:30, gathered in my small office, and although we'd exchanged texts all day, I filled them in again on my status and prognosis.

It was Sandra, a striking woman most noticeable for her long highlighted blonde hair, who said, "Well, we better get our work-outs in, you can tell us the rest over margaritas."

That brought a smile to my face. It was Thursday, Margarita Night for the posse - don't worry, I'd been a good girl, limiting myself to one while in training - but, I couldn't see going out. My leg hurt.

"I can't."

Jo Anne, a brunette whose dragon tattoo covered her back, said, "We know that silly, but since it wouldn't be Margarita Night without you, we're doing it at your place. Cheryl's got everything in a cooler in her cruiser."

Cheryl, a sheriff's deputy with short dyed blonde hair and a tattoo of the moon on her shoulder, said, "Including a virgin margarita for you."

They were a force of nature. Who was I to say no?

* * * * *

When my son walked by the living room Jo Anne said, "Hey Ryan, come on in."

"Hey guys, I didn't mean to bother you."

"No bother, your Mom's been telling us what a hero you've been."

"Thanks, but Mom's the hero."

* * * * *

I was sitting on the toilet when my phone buzzed; it was another text from Karl. He wanted to go to a party Friday night, but I knew the place, a lot of standing, all of it on concrete. I wasn't up to it and had told him so. Now he was pushing, trying to get me to give in with texts alternating between pout and argument. That almost always worked, but my leg hurt and I was already mad at him - he hadn't called or texted all day - and I'd busted my ass for this competition and an evening with the posse always stiffened my spine. What I wanted was a massage and then go to sleep. I called him, stuck to my guns. Sulking, he said he get back to me.

Feeling good about telling Karl no, I stood, looked in the mirror, flexed, turned around, checked my back, thought about the shrink who noted my instinct for pretty men who talked about sharing and equality, but were just spoiled boys who wanted things their own way.

That was enough thinking about Karl, it was time for my massage. Not wanting a repeat of last night when my panties had been fully exposed, I put on my competition bikini, crawled onto my bed, and texted Ryan who entered my bedroom, took a long look, and said, "I pity your competition," then spent thirty minutes on my leg. His touch was wonderful.

* * * * *

In the morning Karl called, said he was going to the party with friends, apologized, asked for absolution. It was granted.

That night my son worked on my leg.

* * * * *

The following evening I was at Karl's - I'd insisted on a quiet night in - and although we were theoretically watching a movie he had that whole "What-I-really-want-is-sex-but-I-am-not-so-insensitive-as-to-ask-for-it" vibe going. My carefully wrapped (thank you Ryan) leg ached and the idea of sex did nothing for me, but it was best to be pro-active. I kissed him, removed his pants, took him in my mouth, he came. He said he'd do the same for me, but my fricking leg ached and I wasn't in the mood so I cited my leg and begged off. Karl protested, just enough so I'd know he cared, then said okay.

At home my son worked my leg.

* * * * *

On Margarita Thursday I lifted at maintenance level and to celebrate the posse headed for our favorite place, which had this very hunky waiter. Over margaritas (mine alcohol free) we talked about the competition, and the waiter, and work, and the waiter, and life, and the waiter. I must have been getting better, for the first time since my injury I was horny.

At home I crawled into bed, Ryan crawled on behind me, paused, and said, "Mom, is it okay if I touch your behind? I want to see if there's any tightening there. "

"Now you're asking? The other day you just grabbed."

"Yeah, I shouldn't have done that, but in my defense it's a nice butt."

Smiling I said, "You shouldn't talk to your mother like that, but go ahead."

He carefully traced the muscles of my backside with his fingers, then said, "Sometimes, when you injure one part of your body you unconsciously change how you do things to protect it and, in the process, stress other parts of your body. Athletes with foot problems sometimes the stress on their feet by using their knees in ways for which yhey weren't designed and end up with knee problems."

Familiar with the problem I said, "I understand."

"I think that's happening to you. To protect your hamstring you're stressing your gluteus maximus and gluteus medus."

"Is it a problem?"

"It could be. If it's okay, I'd like to massage you here also."

Turning my head, pushing some dark strands of hair out of the way, I said, "Okay, but we'll keep this to ourselves, the posse doesn't need to know."

Ryan worked up my thigh. When he reached the top, his fingers still on my leg, he drove his powerful thumbs into the bottom of my butt and I felt my pussy lips slide on each other. Surprised, I jerked and when Ryan said, "You okay?" I dissembled and said, "Yeah, I didn't know how tight I was back there."

Ryan, taking my comment as approval, said, "Okay, we'll work on that," and massagedg my backside. Over the initial shock, I had to admit it felt good: my pussy lips slithered on each other, the walls of my sex undulated in long waves, my breathing flattened out. Thankfully, he kept going and as his hands moved away from my sex the butterflies in my stomach landed and tucked in their wings.

After he left I jammed my hand inside my bikini bottoms and fingered myself to orgasm.

* * * * *

On Friday night I suggested Karl and I watch a movie at his place. With the competition eight days away I wanted to get to bed early and get a fresh start tomorrow. Karl, however, stopped for beers with the guys on the way home and at his place he pulled two more from the fridge. I declined, he drank one, then the other, then discussed which movie to order, but that wasn't what he wanted. I knew that horn dog look, what he wanted was sex and while I wasn't interested in sex, I was interested in getting to bed early and didn't want this to take all night.

I peeled off his shirt, pushed his pants to his ankles, took him in my mouth. I give a good head - at least, no complaints yet - and he was soon moaning, jerking his hips, running his hands through my hair. I coddled his balls, felt them retract into his body, readied myself, swallowed it all.

And while I hadn't been horny when we'd started, I was now. Blow jobs can do that to me. He wasn't going to get hard again, but he could eat me.

First, however, I had to pee. I headed for the bathroom, slipped out of my sandals, undid my jeans, shimmied them down my legs (my thigh had tightened up), pulled my shirt and bra off, obeyed nature's call, considered unwrapping my leg, decided not to, it would take to long, returned to the bedroom. Karl was snoring.

Fuck, I knew better, I should have peed before we started.

Next question: spend the night, go home?

I fished my phone out of my jeans, sent Ryan a text. He responded: his fingers were looking for a leg to massage. Did I know any that were available?

"How would your fingers feel if I spent the night here?"

"They'd get through it, I mean after therapy."

I laughed. I wanted that massage and had no interest in sleeping next to my snoring boyfriend (he does that when he drinks), then listen to him bitch about his hangover in the morning. I sent Karl a text letting him know I'd gone home. He'd see it in the morning.

* * * * *

As happened last night, when my son worked my leg and backside my vaginal walls flexed, my pussy lips swelled and glissaded. I tried to focuson controlling my visible reaction, but when Ryan rotated my ass cheeks I murmured, "That's feels so good," with a bit more emotion than intended. Thankfully, Ryan didn't notice.

After he left I got in the shower and gave myself a frickin' amazing orgasm, then returned to the bedroom and the unmistakable odor of my arousal. Had Ryan smelled it? No, it would have been a gradual accretion, a change you wouldn't notice if you'd been in the room the entire time.

* * * * *

Each night my son worked my leg and fanny, setting off a brush fire in my sex. When he left, no longer caring that he'd ignited the fire, I masturbated.

* * * * *

Dr. Brown said, "Leeann, you've made a remarkable recovery. I think we can credit superior genes, luck, a patient in magnificent condition, and a talented future physical therapist assistant. After you win tomorrow, promise to stay off it until it's better."

"I promise. I don't know how to thank you for all you've done."

"It's been my pleasure, you're a wonderful patient, but since you ask, I have two suggestions."

"Which are?"

"When you win tomorrow, mention us, free publicity never hurts."

"Of course, and the second?"

"We're going to offer your son a job, make sure he accepts."

A bit surprised, I said, "Ryan told me you only hired experienced employees."

"We do, but I've seen your son's work, he's good. Plus the staff has been lobbying me to hire him, half the women in the place have a crush on him, they're lobbying me to hire him.. They think he's the perfect guy."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean his Mama raised him right. Not only is he smart, sweet, funny, and cute, but everyone's seen how he's taken care of you. He's not a man who just expects to be taken care of, he knows it's important to take care of a woman."

* * * * *

Favoring my leg I held up the three trophies, best overall figure, best figure class c, best thirty-five and up. During the competition I'd felt it strain again, but Ryan and Dr. Brown had warned me it might happen and when it did I employed the relaxation techniques they'd taught me and finished the competition.

Handed a microphone I said, "As many of you know, I pulled my hamstring several weeks back, wondered whether I could make it today. Several people got me through it. I want to thank Dr. Melissa Brown and the Proteus Clinic who took extraordinary care of me, my best friends, Sandra, Jo Anne, and Cheryl, the posse, you guys are incredible, and my son Ryan, my in-home medical man."

Then I saw Karl, pouting.

Thinking, "What exactly did you do, dude?" I said, "I also need to thank my boyfriend Karl."

* * * * *

Karl was not happy when I insisted Ryan and the posse join us for a celebratory lunch. He was even less so when I told him I was not going back to his place even though this "weight-lifting thing" (his words) was over , but was going home to ice my leg. Sulking, he receded from the conversation, drank. Cheryl, the police officer, finally told him she'd drive him home. Karl didn't like that, but you don't say no to Cheryl.

* * * * *

Ryan and I spent the evening watching Game of Thrones, my leg propped up on his lap, ice pack on it every few hours. And although it was still relatively early, I yawned.

"Ready to crash?"

"Yeah, sorry to be a party pooper."

"It's been a big day and that's a potent muscle relaxer. Why don't you go get ready for bed, I'll pick up down here, then work on your leg."

I hugged him and said, "I love you so much son, I couldn't have done this without you. Thank you."

* * * * *

He was working the top of my leg, the base of my butt. The muscle relaxer having taken the edge off my anxiety, I was absorbing his touch, luxuriating in the sensation.

"How ya' doin'?"

I said, "Wonderfully," heard the sexual undertone to my voice.

He moved further up my butt, drove his thumbs into its sides. The walls of my pussy spasmed, a moan escaped my lips.

He did it again; I purred more than said, "Aaaahhhhhh."

He worked my backside, small low moans leaked out of me. I knew I should ask him to stop, but it felt so good, and Dr. Brown said it was good for me, and his hands were heaven, and he was almost done and when he was I could masturbate.

But when he finished he moved to the foot of the bed, said, "Mom, I'd like to do your leg again," and massaged my feet, all ten toes, then my calves. There was a fragrant gumbo simmering between my legs. Then he started on my thighs, someone added Tabasco to the stew; he moved higher, cayenne pepper and file were introduced to the mix.

"Mom, roll over."

Draping my arm over my chest to obscure my erect nipples, I did. He moved between my legs, massaged my quadriceps. My pussy was quivering, the gumbo ready to eat.

His fingers reached the top of my leg, passed over my sex, landed just above my pubic bone, massaged the muscles there. My clit, wet and throbbing, swirled in its hood. Juice dripped from me.

I wanted those fingers between my legs.

I should say: "Sorry son, we need to end the massage."

And if he asked me why, I would just tell him the truth: "There's nothing wrong dear, in fact it's wonderful, beyond wonderful. That's the problem. You turn me on, your hands turn me on. Your Mom's a pervert, her son makes her hot."

This reverie was interrupted by a voice, insistent, but calm and imperturbable, as if no objection was conceivable. He said, "Mom, focus on how you feel," then covered my bikini bottoms with the palm of his hand, moved the hand in a circle.

Euphoria spread through me like high tide and my, "Uuunnnhhhhhhhhh," making clear how aroused I was.

Ryan slipped his thumb and index finger inside my bikini to caress my aching pussy lips; the sentence of protest that had formed in my mind dissolved. Instead what I said was a sentence that was born between my legs and sent directly to my mouth, bypassing my brain: "Uuunnhhh, feels so good, honey, feels so good."

He covered my clit, rubbed in a circular motion, increased the pressure, cradled it between thumb and index finger, palpitated the blood thickened flesh. Pleasure rolled up and down its short length, I let out a long moan.

He kept at it; my clit and pussy merged. I was wallowing in a pleasure and joy which grew and became more intense until I no longer wallow in it, but instead needed it and craved it, and it continued growing, and soon the pressure became overwhelming, threatening to tear me apart, until there was an explosion and the volcano inside me went off and the orgasm burned through me, growing and deepening until it was a great canyon that surrounded and protected me.

And through it all my son worked my sex, intensifying and prolonging my orgasm, then bringing me down in tiny steps until I was inert and content. He kissed him, his tongue - wet and strong and sweet - was in my mouth and his erection was on my leg, and I imagined our bodies joined together. I started to reach for it, but was so tired and I needed a second, just a second. I closed my eyes.

* * * * *

There was this weird buzzing sound. My son's phone, set on vibrate, was on the table by my alarm clock. It was 11:00 A.M. I slid to the edge of the bed, stood, stretched; a light-hearted joy permeated my body. Those orgasms had been no dream. Putting on a robe I slipped my son's phone in the pocket.

Ryan was in the kitchen, tending a large pot. I said,"It smells great," but knew I had to say more, didn't know how to say it, so I just blurted it out.

"Last night was wonderful, it really was, but I'm sorry, I went too far."

Ryan said, "I'm not sure about that 'too far' thing, but if anyone did it was me, you just lay there. Your body is so strong and responsive, the way your muscles move, the way you react to my touch."

Memories of last night flooding my mind, I wanted to shed my robe, kiss his mouth. I had to get my shit together. I changed the subject, reached into my pocket, handed him the phone, and said, "You left this upstairs. You got a call. It's what woke me up."

"Sorry. I brought it to the room last night, put it on vibrate. This morning I wasn't sure where it was. I didn't want to turn the light on, that would have woken you up, but it woke you up anyway."

"I slept to 11:00, I think it was time to get up."

He checked his phone and said, "Doctor Brown called, she must be wondering how you're doing."

Recalling my promise, I said, "Before you call her I'm supposed to tell you she's going to offer you a job."

"C'mon Mom, Proteus doesn't hire people straight out of school."

"I told her you said that, she said they were making an exception, she's been impressed by your work on me."

Big smile on his face, he said, "Really, that's amazing."

I said, "Ryan, I just thought, maybe she wanted to make the offer, then have me urge you to accept it. Do me a favor, act surprised."

My son punched in the number, answered several questions about me, made an appointment for me to go in, then I heard surprise in his voice as he sputtered out a thank you, said of course he'd talk to me about it. She'd offered him the job.

* * * * *

We ate the turkey chili he'd made, cleaned up, then Ryan asked me to join him on the chair-swing on the back porch. It was our favorite place to talk.

I said, "Do you mind if I go first?"

He said, "No," put an arm around me. I snuggled up to him and said, "I'm not going to deny it, last night was spectacular, but it's not what we're supposed to be doing."

He paused, gave me the opportunity to say more, and when I didn't said, "Mom, it didn't start last night, it's been going on for weeks. When I've worked your hamstring and glutes you've been getting turned on, so have I."

I stumbled though my answer as my initial surprise that he knew gave way to the realization that my belief he hadn't was delusional, "I guess I thought I kept it hidden. Yeah, it's been a real guilty pleasure. Your touch is wonderful, but we've got to stop."

"Why guilty, why stop?"

Surprised by his question and forthright manner I said, "I'm your mother. We just do,"

then watched his brow wrinkle, marshaling ed the arguments why it was okay, but then he stopped, nodded, and said, "Mom, of course I'll respect your wishes, but I believe you and I should be together, that we're right for each other."

His voice was calm and intelligent, his desire unmistakable. I wanted to believe him.

But that was insane.

I hugged him, liking the way he smelled, a bit like the chili he'd just made, kissed his cheek, and said, "I love you son, but that can never be."

I braced myself for a whine or a pout - it's what my men do - but didn't get it. Although Ryan must have detected my ambivalence, he accepted my decision. He wasn't like Karl, or any man I'd known.

* * * * *

Later that evening Karl rolled off of me. I'd faked my orgasm, a half-hearted effort. I felt dirty, it felt dirty, like I was cheating on my son.

"Great for me baby, how 'bout you?"

"It was nice Karl."

"Damn I'm good. I was wondering, with Ryan getting that job, when will he be moving out?"

What? I didn't want Ryan moving out.

"We haven't talked about it. Why do you ask?"

"Well with him gone, you could move in with me, help me take care of my place. Now that you won that championship, a friend of mine has an opening for an office administrator, I could recommend you. I'm sure it's better money than you make at the gym."

I'd been an office administrator; I didn't want to be an office administrator; Karl knew that.

"I like working at the club, we've talked about it, I'd like to own one some day."

"C'mon honey, isn't it time for a grown-up job."

* * * * *

Karl snored and I stared at the ceiling fan as it slowly rotated. Ryan was sweeter, kinder, more supportive, more caring than any man I'd ever known. He'd never dismiss my dream. I looked at Karl, thought again of what my shrink had told me, of my instinct for pretty men who talked pretty, but stopped with talk.

* * * * *

It was Margarita Thursday and I was telling the posse about Ryan's new job.

Sandra, the sweetest, said, "Really, Proteus? That's wonderful, he's such a great kid, he deserves something like that."

Jo Anne, a bit more practical said, "I've heard they pay top dollar, he'll be bringing home some bucks."

Cheryl, as always, out there, said, "Yeah, good looking, nice as he can be, pulling down the dough and, I suspect, packing talented hands, the women will be gobbling him up. If he wasn't family I'd gobble him up myself."

I said, "Cheryl!"

* * * * *

Dr. Brown, frown on her face, ran her hand up the back of my leg and said, "Hmmmm, you were making a rapid recovery but now you've stalled. Has Ryan been massaging your leg?"

"No Doctor, I mean Melissa, I asked him to stop."

"Why?"

Why? Because when he touches me I want him in a way no mother should want her son. Because if he does it again I don't think I'd be able to say no, and then I don't think I'd ever be able to say no again.

"I figured I didn't need it anymore."

"What did he say?"

"He said I do, but he's respected my wishes."

"Well, he's right to do that, but you need those massages, you don't want to take any more time away from the gym than necessary. You should listen to your son, he has your best interests at heart."

" I know that Melissa" - time to change the subject - "How's he's working out so far?"

"Well, its only been a few days, but he's the definition of bright eyed and bushy tailed, eager to learn, and, as I feared, the women are lining up."

Accompanied by a stab of something (was it jealously?) I said, "And how is he reacting?"

"Polite and professional, not hurting anyone's feelings, not leading anyone on. I was a bit worried about it - wounded women, inappropriate behavior - but I couldn't ask for more from him. I think there is someone out there, someone his heart already belongs too, and the women sense it."

* * * * *

When Karl called I said I wasn't feeling well. Instead Ryan and I made dinner - mustard baked salmon and grilled asparagus - and ate in the living room in front of the television. When done I laid aside my plate and said, "I saw Dr. Brown today, she scolded me, told me I should let you massage my leg."

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her you said the same thing. So why are you hanging out with your mother on a Friday night?"

"I like my mother."

"Would you do my leg?"

He studied my face, then said, "Of course, why don't you grab a shower first, get comfortable. I'll clean up down here, then join you."

* * * * *

I got out of the shower, blew-dried my thick shoulder-length black hair, it always took awhile, dabbed some perfume, a fragrance Ryan liked, behind an ear, picked up my tiny bikini, asked myself, did I have the courage for this?

I lay the bikini aside, sent Ryan a text letting him know I was ready, got on the bed, covered myself with a towel.

Smelling fresh and clean and wearing a tank top and gym shorts, I admired Ryan's body as he entered my bedroom, then said, "Ryan you've become a beautiful young man. I can see why the women at Proteus are lining up."

Ryan ran his hand up my leg and said, "I see Dr. Brown has been gossiping. Why aren't you out with Karl, it's usually a date night."

"I don't think Karl is right for me."

He said nothing.

I said, "You weren't much of fan, were you?"

"He's not a bad guy Mom, but I don't know, he talked a good game, but it was always about him."

"Yeah, but don't be too hard on him, there's plenty of guys like that."

Working my thigh he said, "Yead, the dude is okay. I just thought you deserved better."

He was not yet high enough so I'd feel the effect rippling through my sex, but it didn't matter, I was already wet.

He moved up until my vaginal lips slid on each other. Making no effort to hide the sexual lilt in my voice I said, "That feels nice."

He reached the top of my thighs, removed the towel, saw my naked form, paused, just a beat, then worked the muscles at the base of my butt.

"I was nervous about being naked for you, but the bikini didn't cover much anyway."

Rotating my butt cheeks against each other he said "No problem. I hope you know you can trust me with your body."

My sex swollen, I said, "I do."

He kept going, massaged my lower back, my spine, my upper back, shoulders, and neck, then said, "It's time to roll over." When I did I saw the appreciation in his eyes.

And now that he'd seen all of me, I wanted to see all of him.

"Ryan, would you take your clothes off?"

He did, and while I pretended to be interested in other things, there was one thing I wanted to see. When he pulled off his shorts it sprang free. It was a man's instrument, potent and powerful, long and curved and thick, the shaft an almost too pretty pink, the head a dark pinker, near brown, and even on his sizable tool the cock-head seemed overlarge.

"It's beautiful son."

He said, "Y'know how we guys are, I was hoping you'd like it," and lay next to me. I curled my body into his and, my mind awhirl, drew figures on his chest with a fingertip, moving down until I was there. I wrapped my hand around it, felt its warmth, and said, "Do you think this is all a bit strange?"

"Mother and son, in bed together, yeah, a bit strange. Y'know, when I first began thinking of you this way, wanting you this way, I told myself I shouldn't, bit the thoughts came back. When they did I studied them, turned them upside down and inside out. I couldn't find anything wrong with them, then banished them again. But they always came back.

"I thought it was all hopeless, but when I started massaging your leg and saw the way you responded, realized you might want me the same way I want you.

"Yeah, a bit strange, but that doesn't make it wrong."

Frigging his dick, I knew this was my last chance to say no. If I didn't walk away now, I never would. He was my son, but he was also an adult, capable and sober, in many ways more mature than I. I wasn't a predator and he not a naif. We loved each other, respected each other, cared for each other.

I leaned into him, said, "I love you son," and we kissed, our tongues danced, played, dueled. With a little half push-up he moved atop me, kissed my mouth, my neck, shoulders, collarbone, then looked down my body to the swell of my small breasts, the curve of my hips, my rippled stomach, the place between my legs, and in a tone reverent, as if speaking of a work of art or a magical sunset, said, "You are so beautiful."

He moved down my body, took a long whiff of my sex, said, "Sweet and delicate, strong and so very feminine," then put his middle finger in his mouth, wet it, probed the face of my sex, spread my juice, opened me with two fingers, and said, "Your pussy lips are so beautiful, fat and pink, they glow."

"Eat me son."

He dipped his head between my thighs, nibbled, tongued the crease between leg and pussy; kissed my sex from clit to the bottom of my slit with little butterfly kisses. He licked every fold, every crevice, every curve; my pussy was slick and glossy with saliva and cunt juice, the scent of our arousal filled the room. I slid my fingers into his hair and bucked my hips; his tongue parted my pussy lips, speared inside.

"Oh yeah, baby, just like that. Kiss me, just like that. Eat me baby, eat my pussy."

Consumed by incestual lust, my sex became a fault line, the place where continents grind into each other, building a tension so powerful and profound that I knew when it was released the shockwaves would shatter, then re-construct my world, a world where my son would be my lover, the man I'd given up any hope of finding.

Ryan flicked my clit, tall and red and shiny, with the tip of his tongue, light fast insistent, then sucked it into his mouth, rolled it between his lips.

"Oh Ryan, oh yes."

As he did the continents kept grinding and the pressure kept building, the tension in my gut growing until I was afraid it would tear me apart, that it until, in a single instant, without warning, it all gave way. I screamed his name, I came with an unearthly blinding power. My vagina and I were in free fall and when we hit bottom I came again, and hit bottom again and came again and then again and again. I felt numb, I felt alive, my heart pounded, my legs shook, and I laughed and I smiled and I was weirdly happily proud.

And through it all I heard my voice: "Don't stop baby. Don't stop, don't stop eating me, just like that, don't stop, never stop, never ever stop."

When it was over I looked at him. My juice was on his chin and cheeks and mouth and lips, a smile was in his eyes, and I said, "I love you," and he said, "I love you too," and he straddled me and took a nipple between his lips. His mouth was sweet and tender, like when he was a baby and he'd feed on my milk-bloated teats and I'd get excited and touch my pussy.

I reached for his dick, placed it on my vagina, and said, "Fuck me. There's no reason to worry, I'm on the pill." He moved inside me and when he was all the way inside me he fucked me, at first with little movements, testing and exploring, noting how I responded, but soon, very soon, he was fucking me deep and hard, thrusts that rattled my bones, and I said, "Ohhhhh Ryan. Ohhhhhh, so good," and rammed my hips into him, and we fucked and I loved him so much.

He said, "Oh Mom, I've wanted this for so long," and I spread my legs, opening myself to him, and said, "Yes, that's what I want. Fuck me, fuck me, good, hard, forever."

He took hold of my arms, pinned them to the mattress, shoved his dick inside me, rolled his body forward, crushed my clit with his pubic bone, did it again, again.

I was proud of my body, the way my muscles absorbed the frenzied libidinous incestual assault of a lover half my age, and drove back into him, giving as good as I got.

We fucked and we fucked and we fucked; his cock was hard and long and fat. His boiling balls slapped against my backside.

He fucked me with months, years, of pent-up desire. Fucked me like fucking me was the most important thing in his universe. Fucked me with a desire so powerful that he'd discarded society's most sacred taboo to do so.

There was one woman in the world he wanted, me, his mother, and that's how he fucked me and that's how I wanted to be fucked.

"Oh yes, give it to me. Give me everything you've got, everything."

And soon he'd come inside me, fill me with his seed, our essences would mix together in my most sacred place, the place my son-lover had been conceived, grown, been born. And that place would belong to him as much as it belonged to me. It was the place where he became my child, it would be the place where he'd become my man.

"Give me your cum, spill it inside me, fill me up. Give it to me!"

He fucked me with his beautiful cock and his big heavy balls; his fat cock-head hitting my g-spot every time he thrust into me and each time he pulled out. He was deep inside, in places no one had been before and my body, consumed by lust, operated on primitive instinct. The tiny muscles lining my pussy's floor contracted and pulsed, the nerves of my pussy walls throbbed. I felt animal pleasure and I felt fulfillment and gratitude and lust and joy.

"Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me with your big cock. Fuck me and come inside me. Fill me up and keep fucking me and keep filling me up and keep fucking me. Oooohhh god. OOOOhhhhhhh, fuck me."

Somehow fate or the universe or evolution or karma, all wiser than I, had allowed me to give birth to the man for whom I was made, for whom my heart and soul and sex and breasts and body were made. I would satisfy his deepest, most powerful desires, fulfil his every fantasy, as he would mine.

I bucked my pelvis, clawed Ryan's ass, told him to come, told him I wanted it, needed it. Lifting himself on his arms he looked at me and intoxicated by the sight of his mother writhing on his big dick he howled and he bayed and he pumped thick white seed into me, coating my sex and filling my womb. I clawed his back and I came and I kept clawing and I kept coming and I screamed his name and my joy and he kept coming and then neither of us were making any sound at all, we were just two sweat-soaked entwined bodies sucking in air.

* * * * *

Despite the perfection of that first time, and the many times since, I can't say I never questioned my decision. It was not that Ryan gave me reason to doubt, he was supportive and caring and decent and funny and engaging and my best friend and the best lover any woman ever had. He never said an unkind word, never did a mean or nasty thing, never stopped telling me I was wonderful and beautiful and that he loved me.

He once said, "Mom, we don't always agree, but I've never heard you say anything that didn't merit respect," and, unlike every other man I'd ever known, he lived those words.

We disagreed, but rarely fought. Instead we'd talk and listen and always remembered our relationship was more important than what we were discussing and sometimes we did it my way and sometimes his and sometimes neither and sometimes a bit of both.

No, it didn't bother me that my son was my lover, everyday was an affirmation of our love. However, I did sometimes wonder whether I'd deprived him of what the world would call a normal relationship, saddling him with a lover he could not publicly acknowledge and who was eighteen years his senior

But those weren't the big question, the big question was children. He loved children, always had, took joy in their presence as they did with him. I knew he'd accept that we couldn't have any, but could we?

I did my research. The chance of an abnormal birth of the child of a mother and son was minute, my not-to-far-off fortieth birthday posed a far greater risk than would carrying his child in my womb. Would people notice a son who lived with his mother and helped her raise the children of another man, or men, and even allowed those children to call him Dad? A few maybe, but most wouldn't and even fewer would care, and those people probably already wondered about the strikingly intimate relationship of a 38 year old woman and her 20 year old son.

And so, two years after our affair began, the night, for the third straight year, I'd been named champion, after celebrating with the posse, after returning to the house, after making love, my body cuddled to his, I said, "Ryan, I'd like to start a family."

With barely controlled excitement he said, "Really, I've been thinking about it too. It's just that, well, you've been so focused on winning the competitions, I didn't want you to feel like you had to choose. I didn't want to pressure you."

"You haven't, but when I see you with children, how much you enjoy them and they you, I can tell. I've always wanted more children but never found the right guy. We'll need to do some testing, but the fear of birth defects is overblown and more and more single women are having children, creating families on their own terms. To them you'll be what you've always been, a devoted son helping his mother.

"And, after all, I've won three years in a row, maybe I should give someone else a chance.

"There is one, or I guess three things, I do worry about."

"What's that Mom?"

"The posse. They know I'm not seeing anyone. If I show up pregnant they're going to insist on knowing the truth and even if I lie, they'll see through me."

Smiling, my son said, "Mom, you don't think they already know? Those are your best friends."

* * * * *

It was Margarita Thursday. After we ordered a second round and I said, "Do you guys know anyone I can set Ryan up with? He needs to start dating more."

Sandra, the sweetest, laughed. She hadn't taken me seriously.

Jo Anne, always practical said, "What's going on, why do you need a beard all of a sudden?"

Cheryl, out there as usual, said, "Honey, if you're loaning him out, send him my way. I can always use a good roll in the hay and as happy as you've been these last few years, it's clear your boy delivers."

Sandra said, "Is there trouble in paradise baby? I hope not, you two are so happy, it makes a girl believe in true love."

Jo Anne said, "I think Cheryl has a point, we should get dibbs."

Cheryl said, "I called him first."

I said, "You guys knew?"

Cheryl said, "Of course we knew, but now that you're finally owning up to it, we have this bet to settle. The first time you two did it, and I mean did it, no metaphors, when he stuck his thing in you, was it before, the night of, or after your first championship?"

I said, "About a week later."

Sandra pumped her fist and said, "Yes," while Cheryl and JoAnne handed her five dollar bills. Then Jo Anne said, "So why are you finally telling us?"

"Were talking about having children. I told him I was concerned you guys would figure it out, he said you already knew, I had my doubts so I decided to test it."

The rest of the evening was occupied by a vigorous debate over who would be god-mother.

* * * * *

I got home buzzed and horny, my son asleep.

I dropped my clothes on the floor, crawled onto the bed, pulled down his shorts, took him in my mouth, heard a happy murmur, felt a hand on the side of my head, and Ryan, in a slightly amused tone, said, "You guys must have had fun tonight."

I said, "You were right, they know, they've always known, and I'm feeling fertile. We need to start making babies. It appears we'll need three."

* * * * *

I was at the front desk, talking to the attendant, when I saw Ryan and placed my hand, palm open, on my stomach. The baby growing inside me, excited by the approach of her father, had kicked.

Then I noted the two women several steps behind him. They'd been in earlier that week. New in town, they were visiting various gyms, trying to decide which they wanted to join.

My son held the door open and headed for the back while I said to my visitors, "It's good to see you again."

"You'll be seeing a lot more of us. We've toured the other clubs in town, decided to sign up here."

While my face was calm, my brain did a somersault and the baby kicked again; we'd doubled membership since Ryan and I, along with several others, including the posse and Dr. Brown, had bought the club and I'd taken over its management.

I said, "That's wonderful, welcome to the family," as my daughter, hearing her siblings squeal in delight when their father entered the child care center, kicked again.