The Best Erotic Stories.

Harbouring Thoughts
by yeswhyof

The sun was shining and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. The television news had reported that it was the hottest day of the year so far and everyone should enjoy it while it lasted because tomorrow rain was forecasted. Yes, it was a beautiful day and I was in my bedroom, with the curtains drawn, standing in front of a tall mirror - naked.

As a pervert I had no interest in tanning myself, I was more interested in masturbating whilst staring at my reflection. I claim to be a pervert solely due to my bizarre interest in the idea of boys or men having sex with their mothers. I have to admit, I thought about it a lot. Sigmund Freud, and any other person I suppose, would probably trace this idea to my mother but I'm not sure. I mean, my mother was nearly fifty and not particularly attractive and the idea of having sex with her was in reality a pretty disgusting one. However, it was the idea of doing it that gave me brief pleasure and long periods of guilt and torture.

So, as the sun was tanning the bodies of girls my age I was thinking about having sex with my mother whilst I stroked my penis, in front of a tall mirror. The idea of boys and their mothers had plagued me for sometime and I had done some research to see how normal it was. I discovered it was normal for young children to carry the `Oedipal Complex' but most people eventually grew out of it. I indulged my dark and unnatural ideas by looking at Internet sites but I found that quite a few of them appeared to be serious about the idea of incest and actually wanted it to happen. It was quite depressing and made me feel even guiltier about harbouring such fantasies about my mother. On the other hand, some erotic stories really were ludicrous and so far fetched that they cheered me up no end. The stories always seemed to have a set list of clichés; the narrator was always a six foot plus, muscle bound, hung-like-a-horse, Aryan superman and the mother was a well preserved big breasted blonde. It was pure fantasy of course but I couldn't `get off' on it. It was too far from `my fantasy'. I mean, I looked for fantasy but I recognised that you need just a hint of realism. I stopped my masturbating and gazed at my reflection with a look of horror. There was realism for you, in all its glory; a twenty-one year-old five foot ten, wild bushy brown haired man with his hand wrapped around his penis.

As a teenager, I remember having countless wet dreams about my mother. One particular vivid dream saw me on top of her whilst I ripped open her shirt and sucked her breasts outside my bedroom on the floor. It worried me at the time and it still does. It wasn't particularly my mother's body which was giving me the thrill in the dream (if she was any other woman I would not even notice her), it was the sheer savagery of the act and the fact that she was loving it which has enshrined it in my memory. God, that dream scared me, was I capable of having such dormant desires as this? I also remember one morning when I was about twelve, when my mother asked me if I remembered the previous night. Apparently I had sleepwalked into my parent's bedroom and announced, "Bring me the sword!" I'm sure Freud would have had a field day with that one.

I glanced at the clock on the wall, Ten past Eleven. I had to meet someone at One so I decided to just run through a familiar fantasy about my mother. I built it up by imagining I was at a costume ball wearing a mask that covered the top half of my face and my mother was in a traditional Bavarian dress. I don't know why she was wearing the dress; it just makes it even more far-fetched I supposed. It's like an insurance policy, make the fantasy a bit surreal and you feel less guilty. Well, that's the theory. Anyway, the party starts to get a bit wild and I end up drunk in a bedroom with a woman who I do not realise is my mother.

That is a key point in my fantasies, I could never `get it on' with my mother knowing that she is the one who actually carried me inside her for nine months. I mean how perverted do you think I am. Anyway, back in the bedroom, the woman teases me by flashing the top of her cleavage at me and asks if I like what I see. I nod my head and approach her. She then fully reveals her cleavage and invites me to suck her nipples, which I do with some vigour. The woman then turns her back to me and lifts her dress over her, showing me her thong. She tells me to pull it down which really excites me. I approach her and slowly tease her by stroking her ass. I start to rub it and think how good it would look all oiled up. My index finger then moves towards her thong...

Suddenly I felt a hard rushing sensation in my penis. I was cumming. My fantasy had roused and appalled me so much that it was being brought to a halt. I braced myself and closed my eyes. I realise then that I have been fantasising about my mother. I struggle to think of something normal, something that is unperverted. Drew Barrymore in hot pants. Just anything normal to block out the image of my mother bending over with her Bavarian dress draped over her back and her revealing thong staring at me invitingly. I opened my eyes and looked in horror at the madness reflected in the mirror; a young man desperately trying not to imagine his mother's backside covered with oil and instead imagining a Hollywood film star's backside clothed in tight hot pants. I ran the name through my head- Drew, Drew, Drew!

The sun was shining and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. The television news had reported that it was the hottest day of the year so far and everyone should enjoy it while it lasted because tomorrow rain was forecasted. Yes, it was a beautiful day and I was in my bedroom, with the curtains drawn, collapsed in front of a tall mirror - naked.

As the thrilling sensation of ejaculation turned to guilt and shame I consoled myself with the idea that I may be enough of a pervert to masturbate over my mother but on the point of climax I'd think of something else. Something that is normal. I had to stop thinking of my mother in this way, it wasn't normal. I glanced at the clock, twenty-one minutes past eleven. I slowly rose from my post-pleasure state of collapse and got out some summer clothes from my wardrobe. It was the hottest day of the year and tomorrow was rain. Better enjoy those sunbathing girls whilst you still can.

 

Click on the name for contact info and more works by yeswhyof.
 
How good was this story?


[Garbage!!]


[Try Harder!]


[Average]


[Damn Good!]


[Amazing!!]


 

Home | Story Index | Contact Us | Other Sites

All contents Copyright 2000 by literotica.com.
No part may be reproduced in any form without explicit written permission.