Mother Son Chance Happening

She didn't show any change in her behavior, which was probably a good thing. I felt relieved by her "no reaction", as opposed to my wanting some reaction the previous night, even a negative one, because I realized that I really wasn't ready for any change in our routine. It dawned on me that I, too, enjoyed our late night get-togethers, thus highlighting some psychological need of mine being fulfilled by her.

I had introduced more substance into our kisses, and I had done so without causing any alarm. My guilt and shame slowly went away with the relief that I felt at being able to get away with my experiment without any penalty or any price.

There was a change in my behavior though. There was a difference in the way I looked at her that night. I felt less uncomfortable looking at her. I had lifted another veil and she didn't reprimand me or complained about it. I actually enjoyed looking at her that night. Although, I wasn't sure if she even knew that something had happened.

Again, we sat there watching TV. Again, she said: "Well, I better go. It's late." I didn't wet my lips this time. I didn't have the courage to repeat my experiment, despite the absence of any negative reaction. I leaned forward and waited for her to kiss me so I could go to my room as well and revel a little in the sweetness that was coursing through my body.

Her lips touched mine as usual, with nothing special there for me to feel.

But I did feel something.

It was barely discernable, but I definitely felt it. There was no doubt in my mind that I felt a slight, ever so slight puckering of her lips as they touched mine. I normally would have dismissed it as untimely contraction of her lips, but this seemed more voluntary than happenstance. Instead of being a light kiss, there was some pressure, ever so slight as it may have been, that her lips applied onto mine.

I spent an agonizing day that followed. I kept wondering if it was real or if I had just imagined it, sort of a wishful thinking like. Was she trying to get more out of our kiss or was she just trying to avoid getting more out of our kiss, as if to counter what my wetness had introduced, by puckering and minimizing the surface area that made contact with my lips.

I needed to feel it again in order to answer my own curiosity. I needed to be in the same setup with her as the previous night and this time I was going to pay attention to every single detail of our goodnight kiss. I even debated if I should wet my lips this time, but that would have changed the variables. I had to keep my lips dry like they were then and see what her lips would do.

The evening and the early part of the night were even more agonizing. But not as agonizing as the period when we were watching TV, with me waiting for our goodnight kiss and the time being frozen still. That wait was excruciating.

But the time finally came for her to leave and for us to kiss goodnight.

I leaned forward as usual and I closed my eyes so that I could focus all my attention on that kiss.

I felt her lips on my lips.

But I didn't feel any pressure from her lips onto mine, as I had felt the previous night. She did not pucker her lips as I had thought she had done before.

There was something different though, as I felt my upper lip slip between her lips with ease.

As it turned out, she had wet her own lips this time.

Whether it was purely by chance, or whether she had wetted them on purpose, I couldn't tell, because I didn't see her wet them. I only felt them after they had made contact with mine. At the same time I couldn't assume that she did it on purpose, even if she did. But one thing was for sure; if she did wet them on purpose, then it would seem that she was also trying to give our goodnight kiss more substance, just like I had tried to give it more substance before.

I could feel her wetness onto my own lips and I could even taste it as I licked them afterwards. I wondered if she had felt my wetness the same way on her lips and whether she had tasted it like I tasted hers. I wondered if it had tasted sweet to her the way her wetness tasted sweet to me. I kept licking my lips for a long while after she had left, trying to preserve the taste and the sensations.

My mother did not kiss me goodnight. My mother actually kissed me, ever so slightly as may be the case. Whether it was voluntary or just by pure coincidence, my erection didn't know the difference. It wasn't so slight that night and I went to sleep fully erect.

Surprisingly, I felt less guilt and shame the next day. I had accepted my arousal caused by my own mother and I had become comfortable at being excited by her. It was okay to have those feelings for my mother—as long as it was all in my own head. While there was a harmless—yet titillating—game going on, it was only a game nevertheless, as I couldn't see it going too far. She was my mother, after all. I could be aroused by her, there was probably nothing wrong with that, but I couldn't really be with her in that sort of way.

Even though we had kissed each other with wet lips, it wasn't enough to change anything between us. We—that is, if she did do it on purpose—had done it supposedly without the other person's knowledge and we had done it with possible deniability. If one were to object, the other could simply feign innocence by refusing to acknowledge that there was anything more to those kisses than simple goodnight kisses between mother and son. We were nudging the line a little, but we couldn't really acknowledge that we were nudging it. There was something there, but we couldn't really read anything into it. Definitely we couldn't act on it. The instance one of us acted on it, the other was programmed to run away from it. That's just the way it is meant to be.

I couldn't expect that experiment to develop into anything else. It was a harmless experiment, from all angles, to give some titillation to our late-at-night lonely hearts; to get the blood running a little faster; but it could never become a prelude to something bigger. It just couldn't. She was my mother and I was her son. Line was drawn by nature and the line couldn't be crossed—ever!

I felt a bit sad and somewhat disappointed at the thought that the line could never be crossed. Obviously we had something to offer to each other but couldn't really make the actual offer. I felt somewhat depressed for no obvious reason and felt heavy hearted enough to not go to the TV room the following night.

Once again, I stayed in my room. In hindsight, I believe I was looking for some additional attention, because I was hoping for her to notice my absence and then make an effort to show that she did miss our being together. There was some validation in that that I craved.

She came to check on me, as I had hoped that show would, as I had, somewhere in the back of my mind, wanted her to do.

I wasn't working on my computer so I couldn't use my previous excuse. I was in bed instead, just sitting there thinking.

"Are you okay?" She asked softly.

"Yes, I am okay. Just feeling a little tired."

She seemed a little confused. I wasn't lying down as I would have been if I was really tired. I was just sitting there, above the covers. There was some concern on her face and I couldn't really tell what it was about. I tried to read her body language to see if there was anything for me to latch onto. There was nothing.

It seemed she wanted to say something but couldn't bring herself to utter the words. I also wanted to say something but I didn't know what to say. Finally, she just turned towards the door quietly, not even wishing me goodnight.

That, in itself, was significant. I knew I was probably being unfair to her, so I decided to give her a way out. I also decided to give myself a way out.

"If you give me a few minutes, I'll come and join you." The best way to end our dilemma, end our guilt, end our shame if it was there, and make things go back to normal, was to pretend like nothing had ever happened.

I could see a tremendous weight lift from her shoulders, as she immediately perked up. It was contagious, as I felt better almost instantaneously. Nothing had happened the previous night. We didn't do anything, and we definitely didn't do anything wrong.

We turned the TV on. This time we also talked about one or two mundane things. There was a bit more familiarity between us for some reason. We had become a little friendlier. Even though our get together was short, it was more meaningful than before. We ended it by wishing each other goodnight with a quick peck on the lips; a dry, light, and barely noticeable kiss. We both retired to our rooms at the same time.

In the days and nights that followed, I tried very hard to keep the memory of her sweet taste alive, but it faded after a while. Our routine continued where we would watch TV together, talk a while, and then end the night with a goodnight kiss.

I have to admit though that we actually became more at ease with each other than we had been previous to our wet kisses. There was a bond that we had developed that brought us even closer, in a platonic sort of way. We actually started to talk more and more, to each other and about each other. It seemed she had a lot to say, as I found myself listening to all kind of things, just simple things, about an incidence here and an occurrence there.

At this stage, I must explain two things. One, how was it possible for us to spend that kind of time together without alarming my father? Two, how was it possible to keep our routine separate from her routine with my father?

Our house is built like a U-shape. My parent's bedroom is at the far end of the left leg while the kitchen is at the far end of the right leg. The TV room is right next to the kitchen and my bedroom is next to the TV room. There is an additional room between my room and the corridor on my parent's side of the house. There is another room where that side of the leg starts, and then there is my parent's room at the top of that leg. During the day time, my mother goes out through the large glass door that opens onto a veranda, which is between the kitchen and the corridor on the other side. At night, she has to go from the kitchen to the TV room; then exit onto the corridor, which passes in front of my room and the room adjacent to that. The corridor then turns, passing in front of the third room and ends up in front of my parent's bedroom.

The distance from my parent's bedroom to the TV room is fairly long, making it impossible for my father to hear or see anything on this side of the house. We could watch TV and talk gently without ever disturbing him, as the sound would never reach him and the light from the kitchen or the TV would never disturb him. Still, we kept all noise to a minimum and all conversations low so as not to wake him. The only way for him to see us, would have been if he actually came to our area personally, but my parents have their own mini-fridge, with tea and coffee makers, so there was never any need for him to venture back into this side of the house after retiring to his room.

I work the second shift. My father on the other hand works from eight to five. He leaves the house around six in the morning to commute to his work, while I sleep through the morning and go to work around two in the afternoon. My father comes home from work around seven at night, eats his dinner, watches some TV, and then retires to his room by nine. I usually come home after he is already asleep. I shower, eat my dinner and then stay up watching TV where my mother also joins me. This gives my mother enough time to have one routine with him and then spend time watching TV with me without having to worry about my father and without having to go to bed early.

As my mother and I spent more and more time together, our intimacy increased ever so slowly. At times, she even sat on the same sofa that I was sitting on, albeit, at the far end of it. It was then only a matter of time before thoughts of more substance in our kisses came back to one of us. The question was as to who would be the first and how the other would respond.

One weekend, my father was away on a seminar. This gave us a chance to be even more free with each other and I decided to rent a movie. We watched the movie together, as there was no hurry for her to leave. Our time together extended well beyond our usual routine. We even watched a late movie on TV, in addition to the rented movie. We stayed up quite late that night and it was actually me who suggested that we should turn in for the night.

I removed the DVD from its player, put it back in its casing, and turned the TV off, while she put the dishes away in the kitchen sink, to wash them in the morning. Our corridor runs the length of the house, as I've mentioned before, starting from the TV room, passing by my room first and then by other rooms in the house, including the guest room, and winding its way down to her bedroom.

I checked to make sure that the door leading to the veranda was locked while she switched the lights off in the kitchen and in the TV room. We both then walked to the corridor in semi-darkness.

Normally our goodnight kiss is with me sitting on the sofa leaning forward and her bending down to reach my lips. That night, however, it had to be at the point where I went to my room and she went to hers, which was in front of my bedroom door. We stopped there to wish each other goodnight. This kiss had to be with the two of us standing face to face, where she had to raise her face towards me and I had to lower my face onto hers to kiss her.

This kiss was automatically more intimate than the other ones, with semi-darkness adding an air of mystique to it. We were so close that I could feel her breasts next to my chest, the first time for us to be close that way. I don't know if they were actually touching me, but they were next to my ribs; quite close indeed considering she has big breasts.

We both had spent quite a long time together that day, having fun, enjoying each other's company. I was feeling a bit sweet all over and the guilt of our previous wet kisses had completely disappeared. Just to make things even more thrilling—inadvertently, most likely—she placed her left hand on my right arm for support.

I definitely felt her breasts brush up against my chest as she lifted herself up to reach higher. I felt aroused and for whatever reason, my tongue darted in and out to wet my lips just as they reached hers. She couldn't have seen it because of the relative darkness surrounding us.

As our lips touched each other, almost as a reflex, her other hand found my other arm. Instinctively, my lips pressed onto hers with a little more pressure than usual.

It was a brief kiss but with long lasting effect.

Her lips were also wet. She had wetted them, just like I had wetted mine. Since I was descending onto her, when our lips met and pressed into each other, the mutual wetness made it easy for her upper lip to slip between my lips slightly while my lower lip slipped between her lips, slightly. Almost instinctively, we both held each other's lips. I could taste her saliva and it felt quite nice. I am sure she must have tasted mine as well.

As soon as she realized that our supposed good night peck had turned into an actual kiss, she tensed up. Her hands gently pushed me away from her as she pulled her mouth away from mine. Our kiss ended rather abruptly as she whispered goodnight and hurried away to her bedroom.

I must have stood there for at least ten minutes before I managed to get myself into my room and then into my bed.

It was only natural for me to wake up the next day feeling bad. We had actually kissed in a way that we weren't supposed to kiss, and the fact that she had practically run away from me was clearly showing that it was a wrong thing to do. I didn't know how we were going to face each other.

We could call the whole thing an accident and just move on, but it was not an accident in actual fact. We had deliberately caused it to happen, no doubt about that.

I actually kissed my mother and she knew that I kissed her in a way that I wasn't supposed to kiss her. The fact that she practically ran away from me was clearly showing that it was wrong of me to kiss her, that she knew it was wrong, and she put a stop to it before it could go anywhere.

Of course, we took the easy way out. We pretended that nothing had happened. How could anything have happened? She is my mother and I am her son. Nothing could have happened. The guilt and a little bit of shame was for naught.

I learned soon enough that human mind has a way of getting rid of the guilt by justifying the cause as unavoidable. We had an intimate evening and it was only natural to feel that close to kiss like that. Besides, it was dark and we couldn't see clearly.

Once the guilt was gone and the justification was accepted, it wasn't too difficult to see her in a new light. I started to see my mother in a new light. I started to see her in ways that I hadn't seen before.

I noticed that she looked quite good in worn out clothes than she did in fancy dresses. Her faded jeans made her look better than her skirts. She seemed more attractive in a T-shirt than in a blouse. She looked more attractive with her hair tied into a ponytail than if she had come from a hair salon. The key point here is that she actually started to look attractive to me—as a woman.

I started to take an active interest in the way my mother looked; started to check her out as I would check another girl, discretely, of course; started to find pleasure in observing her and her shape and her features. She started to look more and more attractive every day and I started to feel aroused quite often.

There was some change on her part as well. I realized that she had become more jovial. She smiled a little more, moved with some additional rhythm, and I even found her humming a tune or two. Definitely, there was something noticeable in her behavior after our night of fun together. Even though she had pushed me away and stopped whatever it was, still there was increased friendliness between the two of us. There was a new found closeness, both spiritual and physical, between us.

She looked good to me and I even told her on occasion or two that she looked very nice. She returned the compliment once or twice, reassuring me that what was happening between us was mutual. At least I thought it to be so, and I found myself thinking of her almost all the time. I even bought some chocolates for her one day, just as an impulse thing.

I made use of every opportunity that I got to look at her breasts. She had such nice, large, and quite beautiful breasts that I just couldn't help but admire them. It may have had something to do with the fact that those breasts were once my very own, but they were very nice. I don't know if she noticed my attention, but if she did, she accepted it and went with it.

I also checked her backside whenever she faced away from me. She had very nice behind. Her ass was quite shapely, a bit full, and definitely sexy. She carried it well. Her walk had such a delicious sway, I found myself mesmerized by it, quite often.

I got a chance to take a good look, I mean a full look, at her mouth one day. She was doing something with her eyes focused somewhere in such a way that she couldn't see me looking at her. I saw her face, her cheeks, her lips, and her chin with admiration. I noticed that my mother has one of those chiseled lips that, on their own, come across very sexy. They looked very kissable. It only enhanced my thoughts of our kisses because I realized that during our goodnight kisses, it were those lips that touched mine. The thought was mouthwatering.

I also noticed that she was very charming. There were a lot of things that she did that just overwhelmed me. The way she pouted when something went wrong in the kitchen; the way she frowned when the phone rang when she was busy with something; the way she smiled when she saw something nice outside in the garden. I was actually finding her to be a very lovely woman; a very beautiful woman.