Shy Boy

He was so shy; I mean, at nineteen he looked physically like a boy of fifteen; you know all gangly arms and legs. He just didn't seem to have matured at a nice even rate. Intellectually he was fine; came out of his school years near the top and was currently doing tertiary studies in chemistry, but as for the rest of him? It didn't seem normal, and when other boys were starting to copulate with the girls, or each other for that matter, Ben showed not the slightest interest in either gender.

I suppose there was a bit of female ego involved plus a bit of guilt. Ego because I felt that the male should always be in pursuit of the female, or if not at least one of his own gender, and as a mother I didn't want my boy to be different. Guilt because having booted his father out when Ben was six I hadn't let any other men into the place to serve as a role model for Ben.

I'd read somewhere that role models are important. If some of our male relatives had been living close handy Ben might have been influenced by one of them, but none did live near. Of course, he might have found his role model in one of his teachers or someone in the church, but it didn't seem to happen.

The other thing was, being sexually passionate myself I found it hard to understand someone who wasn't, especially after experiencing some of the men I'd had sexual relationships with. Well there you are, another source of motherly guilt; I could have set up more or less permanently with one of those lovers, God knows some of them begged me to often enough.

One of them especially, a young minister who was appointed to our church for a while; he became an enthusiastic "pastoral" visitor to our place when Ben wasn't around. I thought that guy would fuck me to death at times. He was so good in bed I almost decided to enter the marital condition with him, but then decided I didn't fancy the ecclesiastical life style, and then he got transferred to a church in another state, and that was the end of that.

To get back to Ben and the story. When he was around sixteen I was so concerned about him I hauled him off for psychological tests. According to the psychologist it was me who had the problem.

"Good God, what do you expect," he said, " we don't all mature at the same rate. Intellectually he's outstanding, it's just that he's slower to mature in other areas of his life, just give him time. What I can see at the moment is an anxious mother not a problem son."

So that seemed to be that and I relaxed and tried to be the understanding mother. That worked fine for a while, but by the time he got to eighteen and he still showed no signs of an interest in sex, I started to get concerned again. It just didn't seem normal to me. I might have asked myself what "normal" is, but as I have implied, having such a powerful libido myself I just couldn't understand why Ben didn't.

That seems to be one of our human problems, measuring others by our own standards. Now I have to admit that Ben was a bit of a mother's boy. I suppose our being so much together, and I having been the sole parent to bring him up, we tended to be heavily dependent on each other emotionally.

It was during his eighteenth year that I came to realise that Ben was not entirely without interest in women. There was one woman that he did relate to, me. I knew, of course, that a boy's introduction to the female world was usually through his mother, and I started to wonder if I had played my part properly in his development in this regard.

I had heard that some sons had a lifetime devotion to their mothers, and I also knew about how sometimes that devotion became physical in the sexual sense, when some mothers decided they would initiate their sons into their sexual life. In keeping with what I took to be the majority view on these matters, I had thought rather disparagingly about mothers who allowed and even encouraged their sons to have sex with them.

Have you noticed how often once a thought is set in motion it seems to grow and develop? That's what happened to me. The more I thought about it the more I began to wonder if my initiating Ben into his sex life might in fact help his development in that area.

I knew that if I was going to do something like that I would have to move cautiously; one false or hurried move might destroy the relationship we had. I would have to be constantly testing the situation until I felt I was getting a clear signal from Ben that he was interested.

I began with our usual physical contact and, as it were, developed or expanded it a little. The good morning and good night kiss that lingered just a little longer; my body pressed just a little closer to him; trying to see how he responded; did he return the body pressure; did his pupils dilate, and could I see any sign of an erection?

I had not been in the habit of being sparsely clad in his presence, but I gradually took to wearing more revealing clothes. I even went to the lengths of buying some clothes that would allow him to see more of me; this despite the fact that I had never needed to use this sort of lure with my lovers.

I thought I could see and feel him beginning to respond, but he was so incredibly reticent that at times I felt like giving up the attempt. Then I started to discover that I had, as people say, been "Hoist by my own Petard." I had thought my purpose was objective, namely, to get my son interested in sex, but now it had become subjective; I started to become interested in getting him to have sex with me for my sake. In short, I started to really fancy him.

It occurred to me that having my own son's penis in me, returning as it were to the place through which he had entered the world; to feel him there and experience his sperm filling me, would be truly delightful; the fulfilment of a close mother and son relationship.

My close physical contact with him became even closer and the embraces lasted even longer. I appeared more often in front of him wearing revealing clothes, letting him get glimpses of my breasts and thighs. I even went to the extent of getting rid of my current lover so as to concentrate all my sexual energy on Ben.

Now deprived of sexual gratification my fantasies about Ben grew ever wilder. He would experience me and then be unable to do without me; I would give him whatever he wanted; everything a woman can give to a man; we would go on as lovers for the rest of our lives; he would even make me pregnant, if at thirty nine that was still possible.

I knew the fantasies were just fantasies, and it might never work out like that, but they had me in their grip and would not let go.

During the evenings it was Ben's habit to work at his studies in his room, and then as bedtime approached he would join me in the living room for a while. It was then I put the most pressure on him; leaning against him; touching his face and hair; even giving him soft kisses on his lips, while we talked about the day or some other topic. It was also the time when I tried to let him see as much of my body as possible, without being actually naked.

Throughout these evenings I watched him closely, looking for any signs that he might be repulsed or attracted. He certainly showed no signs of being repulsed, and to my joy he began to show clear signs that he was being aroused. Muffled as it was by his jeans I could definitely see his erections.

I knew he would be far too diffident to make a move, and that it would be up to me. Being driven myself to the most agonising states of arousal the moment came when I decided on the final step. I was in such a state that it had to be that, or stop my sexual teasing altogether.

That evening I selected a garment he had not seen me in before. It was a black negligee that simply wrapped across the front and was held together by a strip of clothes. I omitted panties and bras so that I was completely naked under the negligee.

I was in a hell of a state long before Ben arrived on the scene, my vagina lubricating copiously and nipples erect. I sat on the divan, our usual place for late evening hugging. The television set was on and they were showing some old film. I was so worked up and almost unable to keep still, I don't think saw any of that film.

There were moments when I was tempted to rush to his room and say, "For God's sake Ben, make love with me, I can't stand it anymore." However, I managed to restrain myself.

At last he came in. I extended my arms and said, "Come and cuddle me, darling."

He hesitated for a moment, staring at me, then in a choking sort of voice he said, "That looks nice."

"What does, darling?"

"That thing you're wearing."

I could see, even before I touched him, all the signs were there. His pupils dilated; his tongue as it flicked over his lips; above all his rising manhood.

He sat beside me and I could feel his tension that was reflecting my own.

"Give mother a kiss, then," I said softly, and not leaving it up to him I did the kissing. For the first time I used my tongue to open his mouth, and probed and explored. I could feel him starting to quiver, but he made no attempt to follow up my move, so I took his hand and placing it on my breast I pressed his fingers over it. We were still kissing and it was then I felt his response. Inexpert as it was he began his own exploration of my mouth with his tongue.

I let him experience this for a while, then breaking from the kiss I slipped to the floor and squatted in front of him. My negligee fell open so that my breasts were exposed, and the manner of my squatting allowed him to see my pubic hair and the lips of my vulva.

He was now shaking very noticeably and he tried to look away, but I said, "I know what you need, darling, and mother's going to give it to you."

He was sitting on the edge of the divan looking quite helpless, and he made no protest as I began to remove his jeans and underpants.

Had I harboured any doubts they now fled. His manhood was standing up long and hard, with already little droplets of pre-cum oozing from his urethra. I was tempted to lick them off, but decided that at this stage it would be better not to.

His arousal was clear and I could see his penis throbbing in time with his heart beat, but he sat there looking so forlorn, so very young and shy.

I took off his shirt and said, "It's all right, my love, I'm going to make you feel good." With that I took his penis into my hand and started to very gently and slowly masturbate him.

Still squatting in front of him I looked up and him and smiled. I could see him looking down at my vagina in a rather bemused manner and what I had previously vaguely known was now driven home to me forcibly; I was introducing him to the female body.

For all that he was clearly aroused he still had that sad, forlorn look and I felt such compassion for him; I suppose it was a mother's love for her son. Still smiling up at him I speeded up my masturbating and asked, "Does that feel good, darling?"

He said, "Oh yes mum," but then he added almost inaudibly, "We shouldn't be doing this, should we?"

"Perhaps, we shouldn't darling," I replied, "but who's going to know? I want to make you happy, and make myself happy, but if you'd like me to stop…"

As if by reflex action his hand closed over the hand I was using to masturbate him and he gasped, "No…please don't stop."

I knew I had him in my power; he would do anything for me to continue, but he also had power over me. My previous sexual partners would have had to spend a while stimulating me to get me to the state of arousal I was in at that moment. My whole sex organ seemed to be on fire and engorged with blood, and I could distinctly feel lubricant seeping out of my tunnel. My whole being was burning for him so I made my next move.

I seemed to be having difficulty breathing and I was shaking almost as much as Ben. I stopped masturbating him and helping him to move into the right position, I sat across him.

He watched, fascinated, as I slowly lowered my sex organ onto his shaft. At the first touch of my inner lips he gasped, his eyes closed for a moment, and then he whispered, "Oh Mum."

I lowered myself onto his length slowly, letting him experience the soft warm moistness of my canal. When his full length was in me I paused for a moment, gripping him with my vaginal muscle.

This drew a yowl of pleasure from him, and then, being the one in control, I began to move on him, angling his penis to press on different parts of my canal. I could see each new sensation reflecting in his face. At times his eyes would close, and then fly open as he strained up against me.

It is hard to describe the joy in the taking of the virginity of one's own son; of freeing him from the inhibitions that his shyness had held him captive to. Once assured that he found nothing abhorrent about making love with his own mother, I too felt a sense of freedom.

He did not have the experience to control and hold back his ejaculation, and as his struggles to pull me down ever tighter onto him grew more urgent, I knew he was about to come.

Trying to time it exactly for his maximum pleasure I crushed myself down hard on him, forcing every last millimetre of his shaft into me, I gripped fiercely with my vagina again; he howled and released himself into me. He was howling and crying out with each new ejection, and I beat up and down on him, trying to match my rhythm with each discharge of his seed.

Even before he had penetrated me I had felt my orgasm lurking in my depths, but it was not until he had nearly finished his orgasm that I finally surrendered to my own. I began to shudder and pass into that state in which one is only partially aware of one's surroundings and even the partner one is with.

I have often likened it to a meeting with the gods in some elysian fields where pain and pleasure are intermingled to the point where one is indistinguishable from the other. I know that as the first shock of my orgasm struck, I cried out, "Oh my God…neaargh."

After that I seemed to be whirled in a kaleidoscopic world of coloured lights, hearing distant screams that must have emanated from me. When sanity began to return again I was still moving on Ben's shaft trying to cope with the after tremors of orgasm. I could feel that his penis was now becoming limp and there seemed to be sweetness about that.

I became aware that he was speaking, asking, "Are you all right mum…are you okay?"

I looked down at him and smiled and told him quite truthfully, "I feel wonderful, darling."

"But you were screaming and seemed to go crazy."

I managed a weak laugh and replied, "That was just me having an orgasm darling, you'll have to get used to that."

As soon as I'd said it I realised I'd taken it for granted there would be other occasions when I would orgasm with him. I looked down at him to see how he responded, but he gave no sign of my words having registered with him.

Feeling slightly fragile, and while still united with him, I leaned forward over him. His hands came up to cup both my breasts and fondle them.

Not sure whether I should or not, I took the risk and asked, "Did you like that, my love?"

He smiled up at me and said, "I've often tried to imagine what it was like, but never realised how beautiful it is. Why did you let me do it with you?"

"Because, my darling, I love you, and I thought it was well past the time when you should be experiencing a woman. You didn't mind doing it with me?"

"No…no; did you know I wanted you?"

"Yes, I was fairly certain so I just took the chance. As it happens it's been a wonderful experience for both of us."

"For you as well?"

"Yes, darling, for me as well."

I continued to sit over him, his penis in my vagina, for some time. It seemed it was my turn to be shy. There was something that I wanted to ask him but it took a while for me to find the nerve.

He was still playing with my breasts, touching them as if they were some precious object. Finally I came out with it; "Would you like to come to bed with me tonight?"

He paused in his breast fondling and looked up at me; "You'd let me do that?"

"That's why I've asked you, my love."

"You'd let me do it again with you?"

"Of course, if you really want to."

"Thanks mum, he said in a hushed voice."

I removed myself from him saying, "Then we'd better clean up."

He looked at me solemnly and asked, "You don't mind having my…mind me putting all that sperm inside you?"

"Of course not darling, after all that's really what it's all about."

"You won't get pregnant, will you?"

I laughed and said, "Not for the time being, I'm on the pill, so you don't need to worry."

Then a thought occurred to me; "Would you mind very much if I did get pregnant?"

As soon as I'd asked him I felt sorry. He had started to come out of his shell, and I seemed to have driven him back into it. He looked baffled and said, "I don't know…I mean…you're my mother…and we shouldn't…you said 'Who's to know," but if you got pregnant, wouldn't people get suspicious?"

I smiled at him and tried to backtrack, saying, "Well, it's not going to happen tonight. Come on, let's shower and go to bed."

His inexperience showed up in the shower because even though in washing his penis I brought him erect again, he made no attempt to take me standing there. He did, however, demonstrate that he had learned something from our first encounter.

When we got into bed I lay back waiting to see what he would do. For a while he rested on one elbow looking down at me. After a couple of minutes of this he leaned forward and kissed me softly on the lips. As he did this I felt his hand enfold one of my breasts. He kissed me again, this time there was a sense of urgency about it, and I opened my mouth to receive his tongue.

Now there was no hesitancy; he began to explore my mouth, seeming to be trying to taste my salvia. His hand was fondling my breast with increased urgency and I knew what the next step had to be.

Breaking from the kiss I put my hand under a breast and raised it to extend the nipple. I must admit my breasts are not the firm mounds they were in my youth, but in keeping with the rest of me – the rest of me being admittedly buxom – they are plump and soft with rather large and pink nipples.

"They're nice for sucking," I said, drawing his head down to the breast.

It always seems odd to me that men apparently know instinctively what to do with a breast. Ben's mouth closed over my nipple as his hand began to explore my other breast.

His avid sucking started to send little shocks of warm pleasure though me. I held his head to me indicating that I did not want him to stop. I lay back relaxed, letting the experience course through me.

I had often been suckled before by my lovers, but there seemed something special having your own son do it. Perhaps it is the pleasure of recalling how you fed him as a child, and in a sense you are feeding him again, but his hunger is different, as is the satisfaction you give and receive.

I think I could have orgasmed just by what he was doing to me, but I chose not to. I wanted to experience again his length in me, but this time with him on top of me, the one in control.

I took the hand that was fondling my breast and drew it down to my vagina. I managed to get two of his fingers into my vagina and said, "Move them in and out of me darling."

I felt him begin to move in that wet environment, and said, "Put another finger in." I wanted him to give me some clitoral stimulation, but decided that would wait until the time I made him look at my genitals. I have a bit of an obsession about that.

There are so many men who have never looked directly at the female sex organ, and therefore never really know what they are touching. Besides, I am one of those women who demands to be given oral sex. Any man who refuses me that is soon disposed of. If Ben was going to be my lover for any length of time, then he would give me what I wanted.