A Coincidence of Wants Ch. 01

A note to the reader: I have never actually had any real-life fantasies about my mother, who I love very much and raised me extremely well, nor about anybody else's mothers, that I can think of. My Oedipal kink started in my 20s, and has been the longest-lasting and most powerful kink I ever had. I am 43 now, and it is still going strong. I have tried to analyze why that is — there is something about the ego-concept of being such an attractive male that the one woman never supposed to be with you cannot help herself and goes there anyway. Also, the notion of an older, wiser woman being with a younger, curious and sexually virile man is also puissant. When I flip it around to a father and a daughter, the concept immediately becomes very exploitative for me and nothing I would ever want to write about. We are such silly, silly monkeys, aren't we? Hope you enjoy! 

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I cannot remember a time when I was not attracted to my mother. Of course, this is something no one knows, not even my best friends. I don't even write about it. The only reason I'm talking about it today, with you, is because I trust you very much, I love you very much, and you already know all about it.

The first time I remember being attracted to you was in third grade. You came to school that day to read to the classroom as a volunteer. You wore my favorite sweater, and you kept leaning over when you held the book out to the class to show us the pictures. The sweater would fall open a bit, and we could see the shadow between your breasts. I'm sure I was the only one who noticed it, but I couldn't stop staring. I was afraid you would catch me, but your attention was on the book the whole time, so I was safe. I had no idea why I was fascinated...but I surely was.

From that day on, I thought of you differently. You were still my Mom, but...something changed. Other boys would talk about being "boyfriends and girlfriends" with a girl, and I was never interested. I always thought about you. I thought about holding hands when we crossed the street. I thought about watching you at the hairdresser's on Saturdays, when you got your hair, nails and toes done. When we left the studio, you always looked like some sort of movie star or a magazine ad model. I remember very clearly Dad never noticing until you asked him to. That made me sad, and a little mad.

When I started really noticing girls, that's when I started to feel badly about how I felt about you. I knew something was really wrong about it, or at least, it felt that way. No one else ever talked about their moms like I thought about you. I was too scared to open the subject. Every time incest came up in discussion (which was very rarely) everyone made sure to express their total disgust at the notion. I did too. And I felt it, I honestly did — but not about you. I chose to think differently of us. We were the exception that proved the taboo, I suppose.

Junior high was difficult. I kept getting these spontaneous erections. I didn't understand them. Teachers with big breasts were impossible. I squirmed around a lot in class. 

I got very practiced at squashing thoughts about you, because they made it impossible to concentrate in class. I got in trouble for "daydreaming" a lot — remember that visit to the principal's office? You were so disappointed. How could I tell you that it wasn't all my fault, that your nighties and housecoat and bra and panties when running to the laundry downstairs were blowing my young mind? 

So I kept quiet. And tried harder.

High school was a bit easier, because getting involved so heavily in sports was distracting. You tried to make as many games as possible, but I understood that things were hard after Dad left. You worked all the time. When you came to a game, I tried so hard to do something memorable. Even my coach noticed, but he never put two and two together, not until near the end. 

I think he suspected at that point. He guessed it was a girl, and went through several possibilities. Near the end of our champion season, he came to me after the game.

"Hey, sport, you really rocked out there."

"Thanks, coach." I smiled up at him while I took my pads off.

"No, really, you performed out there better than I've ever seen from you. Trying to impress someone?" he asked.

I could feel my face blushing. There was nothing I could do about it except look down at my pads and pretend to focus on the laces.

"Ha! Yeah, that's what I thought. Best motivation in the world. Is it Jessica? She's always staring at you from the sidelines." Jessica was the third most talented cheerleader on the squad. She was way too skinny for my tastes.

"No, coach, it's nobody. Just wanted that trophy real bad." I continued looking down.

"Ok, hey, listen, sorry if I embarrassed you. Any special plans tonight to celebrate? The team is hitting up Arby's."

"Actually, my Mom is taking me out to dinner. She's really felt bad about missing so many games. She wanted to be here today, but she was out of town and had to fly back during the game. She's really trying to get this promotion so she doesn't have to travel so much," I said.

"Awesome! Enjoy your dinner! If I know your Mom, she'll be turning heads in that restaurant, for sure. Your family's got the best genes. Just ask Jessica!" he laughed.

"Ha ha, thanks...I guess." The conversation was getting a little weird, and I think he knew it. I think he felt bad that he was moving to another school, and was going to miss this team. This was his last chance to treat us like adults before he basically never saw us again.

"Well, thanks, sport. Without you, this team never would have reached this goal. You should be very proud of your hard work, and so should your Mom. Thanks so much for everything this year." He held out his hand. "And, well, I hope I'm not stepping out of bounds here, but your Dad should be proud of you too, even if it's hard to be proud of him." It was his face on fire now.

"Thanks, coach. I know exactly what you mean." I was a little embarrassed for him, but also proud of what he said. He never really became a father-figure for me, but it got pretty close at times.

"So long, buddy."

That night was the best night of my entire high school career. Do you remember it? You asked me what to wear that night. That was the first time you ever did that. My heart started racing the second you asked. I hoped you didn't notice my face. I knew immediately what I wanted — the blue gown you wore on your seventh anniversary. I mentioned it, and I could tell you were really surprised at that.

"You want me to wear that? I'm not even sure I could fit in it anymore," you said.

"Well, it's ok if you don't want to," I lied.

"No, I'll try it. Ok, you go get ready, and if that doesn't work, I'll let you know," you said.

"Ok."

I went upstairs to take a shower and jerk off. The thought of you in that dress had my hormones in overdrive. I knew it hugged your ass tightly, and your ass was your finest feature. You have nice, big, firm breasts, but those cheeks, as you well know, stick out like a shelf from your lower back. They defy gravity.

As I stroked my cock, taking my time, imagining my hands all over you, my teeth biting your neck, tongue in your ear, whispering really naughty things and telling you exactly what position would be next, I never heard the door open. All of a sudden, I heard a gasp.

"Hey, um, listen, the dress will be fine. I just wanted to let you know," you said. You were standing just inside the bathroom door.

"OH! Oh, ok, Mom!" I turned away from the frosted glass. I was terrified you had seen my shadow or something.

"Sorry I didn't knock, I'm too used to all those hotel rooms and being alone. Just didn't think. Please...carry on," you said. I thought I heard a slight smile in your voice.

"Uh...ok, Mom...will do..." I had no idea what was going on at that point. You closed the door, and I looked down. My cock was about the size of a small stack of dimes. I sighed, and reached for the shampoo.

The rest of that evening is just a series of momentary snapshots for me. Driving you to the restaurant, trying not to stare at your left leg, exposed to the thigh by the slit up the side. Putting my hand around your waist as you stepped through the front door. You turned to me with a smile and a raised eyebrow. I took my hand away when the maitre-d' grabbed the menus and took us to our table. When she said, "Mr. ________, party of 2?" I looked over at you and said, "Yes." That word meant a great many things to me at that moment.

Sitting at the table, watching your eyes close in delight as the ahi tuna entered your lips. Those lips dragging across the fork as the last piece of cheesecake was consumed. I wanted to put my entire body in your mouth. I was paralyzed with lust for you. 

I knew I was being obvious, but the food was overwhelming me, the glass of wine you allowed me to have ("if you can get killed in combat, you can have a glass of wine, for Pete's sake") was going straight to my head, and I would have done anything to see just a glimpse of your panties.

The drive home was depressing. I knew the night was over. When we walked into the house, you took off your heels with a sigh of delight.

"I know these make my legs look good, but I'll be damned if I can find a comfortable pair I can wear for longer than an hour without getting cramps," you complained.

"Yeah, they really do make your legs look amazing," I said. I almost wanted to slap my hand to my mouth. I couldn't believe I said that out loud.

"Really?" Your eyes sparkled at the compliment.

"Um, yeah, sure." I tried to blow it off, but you knew there was so much more to it than that.

"Exactly how do they make my legs look good?" You bent down to put them back on.

"No, don't they hurt? You don't have to do that."

"No, I want to know. I've always been curious why men like heels so much." You slipped the second one on. What you did next will live in my memory until the last day I take breath.

You turned to the wall. We were standing in the hallway just inside the front door. You put your hands on the wall, and brazenly stuck your ass out at me. You locked your knees tightly. The dress actually rose up a good two to three inches because your ass-cheeks were so prominent.

"Ok, so, using your words as I know you can, what is it that just changed?"

I couldn't believe this was happening.

"Uh, Mom, this is kinda' weird." I actually had a scared feeling inside. I was being given so much of what I desired and thought about for so many years. I didn't know what I was afraid of, but I was terrified.

"Baby, it's ok. I just need a little positive reinforcement. I haven't had much of that lately. Traveling's fun and all, but the bars are all full of opportunists. I'm not like that. I spend the entire time working, watching TV in the room, sleeping, and working out in the hotel gyms — when they have them. That's my whole life. I haven't had a man compliment me in years, not one I could trust to mean it without an agenda. I would really appreciate this — it would mean a lot to me." Your voice broke a little at the end.

"Uh...ok, Mom. What do you want me to do now?" I was breathless. I knew exactly what I wanted to do, but I knew those were two radically different things.

"Just tell me what you notice right now. Why you think my legs look better with heels on," you explained.

"Ok. Well, for some reason, when you straightened your legs, the muscles in your thighs and calves really stood out. That made these shadows appear between the muscles. That just...looks really nice," I stammered, hoping I wasn't revealing what my heart and my mind were screaming.

"Ok, that's nice. What else?" You were really pushing me. Do you remember this?

"Um, well, the dress really...hugs your body. It shows that you're in great shape, which is attractive." Oh shit. Now I did it. Did I really just say "attractive"?

"Oooh, I like that. I like being considered attractive by a boy...I'm sorry, a man, who has almost every girl in high school after him," you teased.

"That's not true, Mom, " I said.

"Yes it is. But back to me. What else?"

"Wow, Mom, go fishing much?" I asked.

"Only if I get a lot of bites," you said. That made me blush. And I knew that you saw it, because you chuckled. That low laugh almost made me grab you.

"Well, ok, you asked for it. Your...um, rear end...makes your dress rise up when you stand like that. And, well, I don't know if I should say this, but that dress is so tight it's impossible to see if you're wearing any panties, which, well..." I faded out.

"Which what?"

"Well...jeez, Mom, this is really weird...it makes me wonder if you're..."

"What?"

"Ifyourewearinganypanties," I blurted out.

"Whoa, buster, I thought we were talking about my legs here," you laughed.

"Mom!" I was getting uncomfortable.

"Oh, baby, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ruin our evening. I am so, so sorry," you said sadly. You turned around and smoothed the dress down.

"NO! I mean, no, Mom, you didn't. This was a great night, the best night ever, really." I didn't want to see you upset, and frankly, even with the teasing (maybe even because of the teasing) it really was the best night of my life ...up until that point.

"Good. Ok, now, seeing as how I took you out to dinner, I think I deserve a good night kiss."

I just stared at you. Did you mean a mom-son kiss, or a date kiss?

You looked me in the eyes.

"Baby, I'm going to do something...a little naughty. And I know I shouldn't. But I'm going to anyway. And this will be the only time this ever happens. But tonight was a very special night for me, something I've needed for a long time, and I want this night to be memorable for you too. Your team won the championship. Instead of hanging out with the team at Arby's, you went out with your Mom. You could be partying at someone's house — while their parents are on vacation, no doubt — and making out with some gorgeous cheerleader. I saw how they watch you, don't think I didn't notice that. But you're here with me." Your eyes were getting shiny. It looked like you were about to cry.

"It's ok, Mom. I wanted to do this."

"I know you did, baby, and I think, just maybe, I know why," you announced cryptically. "But we'll talk about that later. Right now, we need to give each other a kiss goodnight, and then I need to go to bed. I have to fly out again tomorrow, hopefully for the last time." You held out crossed fingers as you stepped closer.

I looked down at you, and you looked at me. Your hand went around the back of my head, and I put my hands on your hips, drawing you closer. Your eyes closed, and so did mine.

Our lips touched, and we staying there for a moment. I would say that I don't remember who opened their mouth first, but that's a lie. It was me. If this was going to be a one-time event, I had to know what your tongue felt like. I just had to know.

I opened my lips just a tiny bit and snuck the tip of my tongue out.

I felt your tongue exploring back.

We both took a massive breath in. I don't think either of us expected such a pheromonic response. Our bodies were telling us to make a baby, right then, right there. Evolution demanded it. For some bizarre, inexplicable reason, we were a perfect chemical match.

Our kiss got stronger. I pulled your hips closer until you were up against me. My cock was rock hard. I knew you could feel it, and I no longer cared. You moaned as you came into contact with my body. Your hands were pulling my head closer, fingers running through the short hairs on my neck, giving me shivers and making my legs shake.

I had never felt this powerful passion before in my life.

We broke away. You turned to the side, surreptitiously wiped your lips with your fingers from the juicy making out, and said brokenly, "Oh, um, wow, ok, holy— that was nice. Um, I need to go to bed now. Goodnight." You almost ran up the stairs. Still in your heels. I watched your ass bounce up and down as you climbed, wishing my face was buried in it.

I immediately took my cock out of my pants. Fuck going to my room. I was going to empty my balls right there on the tile. I knew you were not coming down again. I thought that maybe I had made you mad, but I also knew something else was going on, that some — some, thank God — of the feelings I felt were reflected back.

I never felt a longer, harder cock in my life. It took one lick of my palm — the scent of my saliva immediately reminded me of us kissing like lovers — and less than ten strokes of my cock before I exploded on the floor. I groaned and whispered, "Mom."

Then I cleaned up the mess and went to bed.