A Mother & Son Love Story, With Sex

A Mother and Son Love Story (With Sex)

This story concerns Ryan, a young man whose overwhelming social awkwardness is impacting on his ability to function as an adult. He has dropped out of college and has no job and his mother is becoming increasingly concerned about him.

I hope you enjoy the story and I look forward to comments, as always.

Sylviafan

Caroline stretched her fingers out, seeking the handle of her son's bedroom door, pressing the metal lever with her fingertips and shouldering the door open. It wasn't the way she normally opened doors in her house, or anywhere else for that matter, but this morning she was encumbered with an armful of clean, pressed laundry. She could have knocked of course, with her knee or something, or called out to Ryan to open the door, but she knew that he would be oblivious to the world, headphones clamped to his ears, Xbox console in his hands, thumbs flying, slaughtering hordes of invading Vikings, or aliens, or killer robot soldiers.

She dumped the pile of clothes on his bed and started to sort them out, ready to put away. Ryan had his back to her, sitting at his desk in front of the window that looked out onto the big back garden. But now her turned and saw his mother, alerted to her presence by some sixth sense, or maybe something more prosaic like a reflection in his monitor or the faint air movement as the door opened. He put the console down on the desk and tugged off his headphones.

'You didn't knock,' he said. It was a statement, rather than an accusation. Ryan didn't really do confrontation.

'I did,' lied his mother, 'you just didn't hear.' They looked at each other and Caroline grinned and Ryan gave the little tight smile that was the closest he generally got to expressing happiness.

'Just leave the stuff on the bed, Mum. I'll put it away.' Ryan didn't really want his mother poking around in his wardrobe and chest of drawers and he certainly didn't want her investigating the drawers in his bedside cabinet.

'Ok, sweetie, if you're sure,' she replied, doubtfully. She'd spent half Saturday morning ironing the clothes in the pile and was reluctant to see them stuffed willy-nilly in a cupboard or just left on a chair. She reached out and ruffled her son's thick, brown hair. It needed cutting, she noted, he was beginning to look a bit like Sideshow Bob.

'Thanks, Mum,' said Ryan, by way of a polite dismissal, and watched his mother as she turned and walked out of the bedroom, his eyes on her rounded buttocks as they moved deliciously underneath her tight denim jeans. The bedroom door closed and he sighed and turned to his desk again.

Downstairs in the kitchen, Caroline made herself a coffee and sat at the pine table sipping it and thinking about her son. It was over two years since he'd dropped out of university and since then he'd done virtually nothing with his life except play computer games and watch television. Unemployed except for that disastrous time she'd insisted he get at least some sort of a job and he'd spent two days flipping burgers at McDonald's before going off sick, permanently as it turned out. It wasn't as if he wasn't clever, his school grades had been great, and he'd got a place at a decent university, reading maths.

It was easy to dismiss his behaviour as late-adolescent laziness, but Caroline knew that the truth was more complex and rooted in long-standing emotional issues. It had seemed to start at puberty, or around that time. It hadn't helped that Ryan's particular transition into adulthood didn't start until he was nearly fifteen, by which time all his male friends and classmates seemed to have developed seven-inch penises, facial hair and voices like Lee Marvin. That had definitely been traumatising for Ryan and it hadn't helped that his father, David, had taken the piss out of him for being a late developer, mimicking his high-pitched voice and associating it with being effeminate.

Caroline had been furious; for the first time in her marriage she had really let rip at her husband, and afterwards she had compensated for his cruelty by pouring love and affection on her only child. David had responded by telling her she was overprotective and mollycoddled her son. 'He needs to become a man,' he had insisted. 'To stand on his own two feet.'

And Caroline got that, she really did. But when he came home day after day in tears because the other boys had bullied him what was she supposed to do? He was a nice kid, a nice person; the apple of his mother's eye. She'd hated watching him change from an outgoing, happy, confident twelve-year-old, who represented his school at soccer and cricket, into a shy, awkward, desperately introverted twenty-year-old who had arrived home unexpectedly in the middle of the academic term and announced that he wouldn't be going back to university.

His father's scorn and contempt had been the last straw. Caroline had realised that she not only didn't love him anymore, but she didn't even particularly like him. She offered to leave and take Ryan with her, but David had gone instead, with an alacrity that suggested he had something else waiting for him. Which, it had turned out, he had.

So now, two years down the line, it was just her and Ryan in the big, detached house on the executive estate in the leafy suburbs on the edge of town. And that was fine because Caroline's job as the HR director of an engineering company paid well and the mortgage was manageable. But it wasn't fine because her son, the love of her life, was lonely and unhappy and he didn't seem to have the emotional equipment to survive, let alone thrive in the world. She took a sip of coffee, but it was cold and she pulled a face and just then, the doorbell rang.

It was her friend Christine from next-door-but-one.

'Hi, Caroline. Wondered if you fancied a jog around the park.'

They ran together a lot, especially at weekends, though Caroline didn't really count it as running, it was too slow. But they could talk as they jogged and it was nice to get out of the house for an hour or so. She changed into Lycra pants and top, texted Ryan to say she'd be back in an hour, and the two of them trotted off down the road towards the big park at the bottom of the hill with the river running through the centre.

'Any news from the bastard?' asked Christine as they went through the park gates and headed for the bandstand. It was how she habitually referred to Caroline's estranged husband.

'Not a peep,' she grinned.

'How's Ryan?'

'He's fine,' replied Caroline, evasively.

'Still in his bedroom all day?' she asked.

'It can't go on like this, Caroline,' her friend went on when she received no reply. 'He's wasting his life away.'

'I know that!' said Caroline. 'I just don't know what to do about it!'

'Well you could start by taking his Xbox and his computer away,' Christine suggested.

'That's all he's got!' wailed Caroline. 'He's got nothing else. And he's not lazy!' They'd had this conversation many times but her friend seemed to remain unconvinced. 'He's... He's emotionally underdeveloped. He's awkward with people he doesn't know. Especially women. Look at how he is with you!'

Privately Christine had always put Ryan's behaviour in front of her down to rudeness, though in fairness he'd never struck her as being that sort of person. A nice kid was a good description. They'd reached the bandstand by now and they stopped to watch as a brass band warmed up for an afternoon concert.

'He hasn't got any self-confidence, that's the problem,' said Caroline.

'So what can you do about it?' her friend asked. 'Can you introduce him to something that he'd be good at? Some new hobby? Something away from his computer perhaps? What about buying him a car? He's passed his test hasn't he?'

Back home, Ryan was getting a cold Coke from the fridge when his mother walked into the kitchen in her skin-tight Lycra, her hair in its jogging ponytail. 'Get me one too, would you Ryan?' she asked, sinking down into a chair.

Ryan swallowed, trying not to look at his mother. It was at times like this that his awkwardness seemed to swell up and envelop him, and it was perhaps not surprising; Caroline Webster was an extremely attractive and shapely lady. At five-feet seven she was above average height and this accentuated the slenderness of her frame: long, slim legs, curving hips, a flat stomach and a full bust. Ryan knew from examining the labels in his mother's brassieres that she was a C cup, and today they stood out proudly under her Lycra jogging top. Facially, Caroline bore the traces of her Nordic ancestors: clear, pale skin, high cheekbones, piercing blue eyes, a wide mouth with well-defined lips and sandy-blonde hair that she wore collar-length. No doubt many a son would have harboured secret desires for such a woman.

Ryan put the cold can of Coke down on the table in front of his mother, avoiding her eye. 'I'm going upstairs,' he told her, briefly.

'Will I see you for dinner?' she asked, with a trace of sarcasm.

Ryan closed his bedroom door and drew the bolt that he'd installed after his father left, claiming that he wanted some privacy. The sight of his mother in her running gear had had its usual effect upon him, turning his guts to liquid and sending little shocks of electricity to his dick, which had started to swell in his jeans. Oh, God! Why did she have to be so gorgeous?

He stripped off slowly, kicking his jeans and underpants off, throwing his T shirt onto a chair, and lay down naked on his bed. Ryan Webster had inherited his mother slenderness with his father's modest height. At five-feet nine he was just average, but lean and wiry, despite his lack of exercise. He'd inherited his father's brown hair, too, including the light fuzz of curls over his chest and abdomen. Further down his engorged penis grew from a bed of thick, brown pubic hair. He was proud of his cock. He should be, he told himself, it had taken long enough to reach maturity. Now it was a respectable seven inches and thick and veined with a bulbous head. He stroked it gently, savouring the contact, pulling his foreskin down to reveal his shiny glans.

He felt his muscles relaxing as he stroked himself, warm visions of his mother clicking through his head like photographic transparencies on a carousel. After a while he reached over to his bedside cabinet and picked up his phone, thumbing the biometric sensor. The screen lit up and, using one hand, Ryan accessed his favourite slide show, featuring photographs of his mother taken over the past year or so.

In themselves, with one exception, the photographs were innocent enough: pictures of Caroline walking in the snow, at the beach in her bikini, sweaty and exhausted in Lycra after running a half-marathon. It was the fact of the collection that was unusual, showing as it did a young man's preoccupation with his mother.

He flicked through the pictures as he stroked himself, lingering on his favourites, especially the ones of his mother in a swimsuit. He imagined scenarios where he touched his mother, kissed her, like a man kissing a woman, lips on lips, his tongue probing her mouth. With the exquisite timing of extensive practice he came to the last photograph in the show as his orgasm was starting to bubble in his balls and cock. It was the one that would have raised eyebrows in isolation, let alone as part of this collection. It had originally been a full-length shot of his mother in skin-tight jogging gear, but Ryan had zoomed in to her crotch where there was a very distinct camel toe - the outline of her labia through the taut material.

He'd been so excited when he realised what he'd captured! God, he'd wanked himself silly for a week, constantly telling himself that she must have been naked under those pants. Even now the sight of it was enough to push him over the edge. He groaned and pumped harder as thick ropes of spunk spurted out of his cock and splashed onto his stomach and chest. And as he came he imagined his mother's naked cunt, the lips parted and slick with juices, waiting for his entry.

In the early evening, mother and son ate dinner together in the big dining room at the back of the house. The day was still warm and, after showering, Caroline had put on a loose-fitting floral dress that fell to her knees. Underneath she wore just panties and a bra. Ryan was aware of this as he ate silently, sneaking looks at his mother's face and breasts. Caroline was unaware of this scrutiny - she had spent the afternoon thinking.

Afterwards, she loaded the plates and dishes into the washer and Ryan made to head back to his room.

'Ryan,' called his mother from the kitchen as he was halfway up the stairs. 'Would you come in here? I've got a few things I want to say to you.'

He turned reluctantly, knowing what the "things" were likely to be. In the kitchen he sat at the table while Caroline made coffee, then she sat down opposite him and smiled at her son.

'I wanted to talk to you about your future,' she began, noting the shutters come down over her son's eyes. 'And I know we've had this conversation before, several times, and each time you've said that you'll try to get a job and--'

'And I did. And look what happened! I can't do it, Mum,' he said in anguish.

'Well in hindsight, McDonald's wasn't the right place for you. But... Oh, I know I've said this before but I'm so afraid your just wasting your life away. You're only twenty-two now but the years will pass you by so quickly and I won't always be here for you.' Caroline felt tears spring to her eyes. This wasn't the logical, irrefutable lecture she had practised. This was the usual emotional plea.

'Look, if you get a job, I'll buy you a car. How about that?' Ryan looked surprised; his mother had never offered financial or material incentives before. She'd offered to get him counselling once but the counsellor had been an attractive thirty-something lady and Ryan had found it impossible to talk to her.

'I'll give you anything you want, darling, anything! If you'll just go out there and get a job! And I know how hard it is for you but I just want you to be happy, and that means having some sort of future!' She got up from the table and went around to Ryan's side and threw her arms around his neck and Ryan had the brief but exquisite experience of having his face pressed into his mother's bosom.

There wasn't much to say after that. Caroline watched a terrible film in the sitting room and Ryan went up to his room, where he sat at his desk thinking and looking out into the garden as the shadows lengthened across the expanse of lawn and the sun set behind the big chestnut tree.

Afterwards he lay naked on his bed again, slowly stroking his erection and thinking about the idea he'd had after dinner. He reached over to his bedside drawers - not for his phone this time - and, with the dexterity born of long practice, opened the middle drawer and pulled out a pair of his mother's panties, extracted from the laundry basket that afternoon while she was out jogging.

His knowledge of his mother's lingerie would have surprised and disturbed Caroline. He knew, for example, that this pair of black, nylon panties, with lace trim and a reinforced gusset, had only been put in the laundry that morning, meaning his mother had been wearing them yesterday.

Still stroking himself with his right hand, Ryan brought the panties to his face and pressed the gusset to his nostrils, inhaling deeply. The scent was unique to his mother, warm and strong and intimate, with just a hint of urine. Perfect. He breathed deeply, savouring the smell, feeling his orgasm stir deep inside him, swelling like a bubble of intense pleasure, overwhelming his senses until he went rigid, squirting spunk in an arc onto his stomach, gasping 'Mum!' and licking the stained gusset of her panties as he writhed in ecstasy, a liquid wall of desire for his mother crashing down over him.

Yes, he would ask her, he told himself as he lay limp and spent.

Caroline was surprised to see her son dressed and downstairs at nine o'clock the next morning; he rarely appeared before eleven and even then he would generally be in his pyjamas and a dressing gown. She was even more surprised, astounded even, when he suggested that they go out for the day and do some walking.

'What's brought this on, sweetie?' she asked with a smile.

'It's a nice day. And I thought we could talk, after last night,' he added.

Caroline felt a thrill of something run through her, making her shiver. Fear? Excitement? Had her plea to Ryan finally touched something? Was it the offer of a car? It wouldn't be anything special, she wasn't going to fork out on a new BMW, but she should be able to stretch to a little hatchback and that would make the insurance affordable.

They had breakfast and Caroline pulled out an Ordnance Survey map of the National Park about twenty miles to the southwest and they pored over it, choosing a circular route with a pub halfway round. Afterwards Caroline drove them to a carpark on the edge of the park and they set off down a dirt track, hard and dusty after a fortnight of dry weather.

The day was indeed beautiful: cloudless and warm, the air fresh and smelling of cut grass. They walked side by side through moorland and farmland, passing the granite outcrops so typical of the area's geology. And as they walked, they talked. Inconsequential stuff, to start with: what was on at the cinema that might be ok; what needed doing in the garden in the next few weeks. And both knew that it was inconsequential and that the meat of the conversation was waiting in the wings, but neither was too anxious to start the serious stuff. Caroline, because she didn't want to pressurise her son and Ryan because what he was about to say might have consequences that he couldn't deal with. So for an hour or so it was nice to just chat about nothing much.

About halfway to the pub they rested on a flat, gritstone boulder by the path and had some water and Ryan screwed up his courage and began to speak.

'I spend a lot of time on my own, Mum,' he began, 'as you know. And doing that gives you time for self-analysis,' he went on. 'For developing self-awareness.' Caroline wasn't sure that long periods of introspection necessarily led to self-awareness. Self-delusion was equally likely, wasn't it? But her son was talking, at last, and she realised immediately that this was the difficult part of the conversation, although it wasn't the introduction she'd expected. Self-analysis? Self-awareness? She suddenly wondered how well she knew her only child.

'I've got a fair idea of what the underlying issues are with my personality are,' he continued. 'I was late going into puberty and I got a load of shit at school because of that. And at home,' he added, giving his mother a sideways glance. 'So I feel inadequate a lot of the time and, as a result, I find it difficult to establish relationships, especially with women. I know that, Mum.'

Caroline had to admit that it was a pretty close approximation of her own ideas about her son's problems. 'So what can we do about it?' she asked, gently, thinking that this didn't sound like something that was going to be solved by buying Ryan a car. 'How can I help you?'

'Believe it or not, Mum, I hate being trapped at home. I want a job. I want to do all the things that the other kids I was at school with are doing. But most of all I want a girlfriend, someone I can go on dates with and talk about music and politics and television and everything else.'

'Ok,' said his mother, cautiously. 'So what do we do about getting you a girlfriend?'

There was a silence as Ryan wrestled with his internal demons, who were trying to get him to forget the whole thing. 'You can help, Mum,' he said at last in a small voice.