Studying the History of Families

He smiled. I leaned forward, kissed him, just lips.

When we were done he said, "Did you know Julie and Scott are lovers?"

"I just found out. I should have seen it sooner, they're perfect together."

"There are others y'know, mothers and sons spread throughout the community."

"I also just found that out. It seems a positive epidemic. How long have you known? How did you find out?"

"It started at the airport. You looked great, but you've always been pretty. There was something different, a grace and dignity I hadn't had the sense to pay attention to before.

"When I hung with the gang we did the same stuff we used to do and I was waiting for it to be fun, but it wasn't. I also wanted for you to say something, to criticize me, at least then I could justify it as rebellion against authority, but you just went about your business. So I know I'm in control and I also know I'm acting like a child. I didn't want to be a child, I wanted to be a man, somebody you'd respect.

"I thought about Scott. We'd all joked about how he was Mr. Maturity, about how much time he spent with Ms. Julie, but I knew we were just trying to convince each other that he hadn't outgrown us.

"I started hanging with Scot more. Ms. Julie treated him like man; he acted like a man. All the years I demanded you treat me as an adult, I'd never acted like an adult. Now all of sudden you were and I thought it was time I did.

"It wasn't like it was hard. I quickly figured out that the old way of behaving that took effort, this was natural. Why exactly was I wearing dirty clothes? What was more fun, preparing a meal with you, talking and laughing the entire time, then eating something delicious, or sitting in front of a video screen for hours listening to the guys talk about girls they had no chance with while collecting meaningless points in a pretend quest through a pretend universe with pretend characters? Who do I want to spend Friday night with, a teenage girl who can't stop talking about herself, the latest pretty boy pop star, and the Kardashians, or a beautiful confident intelligent woman like you?

"One day Ms. Julie suggested the four of us go out, she even called it a double-date, and we did and I had a blast. The next day Scott and I were playing basketball and some girls from school were there. They're cute and they're flirting and I got zero interest. Instead I'm thinking it'd be fun hanging with you and Scott suggests the four of us go hear the Michael White Trio. When we were there I saw Scott place his hand on his mother's and I did the same with you. It felt right."

Remembering that night, I covered my son's hand with my own.

"When we'd go out with them, or you and I'd do something at night, I'd hold your hand or put my arm around you and it felt great. There was also something else, I felt an increasingly powerful sexual desire for you. At first I fought it, but soon I was fantasizing about you, then one night I finally gave in and masturbated.

"Ms. Julie and Scott must have sensed something for a few days later they told me they were lovers. It made instant sense, like I already knew it but didn't understand it. When I told them about my feelings for you they said it was perfectly natural, that you were going through the same thing, that you and I were meant to be together, if I was patient it would happen."

He said, "I'd like to kiss my mother."

I leaned forward. We pecked, giggled, did it again. Soon I curled a hand around the back of his neck and we shared our first lover's kiss as I slipped my tongue into his mouth, explored, then retreated, inviting him to visit. He did, our tongues played and twirled and danced.

When we were done I said, "What do you think, weird?"

"A little, but more nice."

Standing I said, "Very more nice," and he joined me and I slipped my hands under his tee shirt, ran them up his nicely muscled chest. When he reached for the shirt I said, "Let me," and pulled it over his head. Damp with his sweat and fierce with his smell, I pressed it to my face. He smelled like a man.

"Why don't you let Mama get the rest of these dirty clothes off you."

I untied his sneakers, pulled them and his socks off his feet, ran my hands up his strong legs, on the length of his manhood, then slipped my fingers over the waist band of his shorts pulled them and his underpants down. They caught on his dick, then it popped free.

I reached for it, but long, slightly curved, and thick, I couldn't wrap my fingers around it. The shaft was dark, darker than his tanned skin, the crown a dusky pink. Heavily veined, it radiated strength, vitality, life, and energy. He also groomed himself, his pubic hair was neatly trimmed. I cupped his scrotum. His testicles were huge. My sex did a little dance as I imagined them slapping against my thighs, imagined the fat cock-head sliding inside me.

Christopher said, "It was hot out there, I could use a shower. Care to join me?"

"Yes darling, in our bedroom."

"Well, in that case isn't it time you got naked."

I said, "Would you do the honors," and he pulled the flimsy garment over my head, dropped it on the kitchen table.

My son and I were standing together in the kitchen, naked. Six months ago it would have been unimaginable, now it was perfect.

We almost didn't make it to the shower, for once in the bathroom, he turned me around so we both faced the mirror, slid his hands around my waist and held me, his dick burning his brand into my back. I swivelled my head, kissed him, at first tentatively, as if unsure of what was about to happen, but again and again with increasing fervor. Soon our tongues played and dueled and invaded each other's mouths and I imagined him throwing me onto the bed, moving between my legs, entering me, locking my legs around his waist, pulling him to me as he fucked me hard and raw, the bed shaking as I clawed at his back, but he surprised me, for when the kiss ended he turned his gaze back to the mirror, scanned my body - my thick nipples were hard, my breasts flushed - then locked his eyes on mine, slowing the action, letting us dwell in the moment. He was young and strong and firm, but I liked his eyes best as they sparkled in uninhibited joy. He said, "You're dazzling." A joyful warmth filled me.

I turned around, touched his chest with the tip of a finger, said, "You're pretty magnificent yourself."

He bent his head, kissed my lips.

I kissed him back, considered - stinky or not - throwing him on the bed, straddling him, taking him inside me, but he said, "Ready for our shower?"

That sounded good too. "You bet."

He said, "What do I call you now?"

"What would you like?"

"I'm not sure. I guess we'll figure it out. Mom here? It's a turn-on that I'm with my Mom, and in public Jessica. That way everyone will know you're with me."

I smiled - men can be so possessive - kissed him, said, "I'd like that."

I adjusted the water, stepped in the shower, he followed. When I reached for the shampoo he placed his hand on my arm and said, "Please let me."

Saying, "That would be wonderful," I handed him the bottle. He opened it, held it to his nose, said, "Nice scent, light, very feminine," and then, taking his time, giving it his full concentration, washed my hair. As strong fingers massaged my scalp I relaxed, purred, did so again as he worked the conditioner into my hair. Next, he turned to my face, cleaning it with gentle attentive hands, exploring every curve and crevice of my countenance as if committing them to memory. When done our mouths merged, our tongues touched and caressed, then sliding his head to the side he murmured into my ear, "Time for the rest of you."

He lovingly stroked my arms with the loofa, cleaned each finger, massaged body-wash into my breasts, paying special attention to my hard hot nipples, then said, "Turn around, Jessica."

"Yes Christopher."

He cleaned my back and shoulders, running fingers on the muscles I'd built since he left for Paris. Had I, in some way I didn't understand, been doing it for him all along?

He knelt and, starting at my left ankle, worked his way up one leg, then the other. His touch was sensitive and knowing and I swayed, imagined his eyes following my butt. When he finished my legs, hands on my hips, he turned me around and cleaned my abdomen. I spread my legs, opening myself to him, and he worked soapy fingers on the folds of my sex, along my labia. My knees grew shaky, my breathing ragged; I held on to his shoulders and moaned my delight.

"Time to rinse off."

My mind addled by the burning need in my sex it took me a second, but I turned around and he directed the showerhead at my sex as my clit quivered in celebration. When done I turned back around and he kissed me, knelt, licked up my sex, a slow firm lick with the flat of a tongue that seemed twenty miles long, flicked my clit, then, in a voice preternaturally calm, said, "Turn around, time for your backside." I did, bending at the waist, presenting him with my anus and swollen pussy. He massaged each butt cheek, worked the body wash into my skin, then, hands on my ass cheeks, opened me up and ran his thumb down the crack of my ass, stopping at my sphincter.

He was waiting for permission.

Reaching back I spread my ass cheeks and said, "Put it inside."

My son squirted more gel on my ass crack, let it flow down, pressed his thumb to my anus. My sphincter instinctively tightened and consciously relaxing it, I pushed into him. The tip of his thumb slid inside me in short sharp motion. It was a weird sort of pressure, not bad, not good, at first just different. Then he jiggled his thumb and with an, "Oooohhhhh," I jumped and moaned, nodded my head. He moved the digit all the way inside.

Leaning on the shower wall, holding myself on my hands, I focused on the wiggling digit in my backside, thrilled at the delightful unexpected sensation. I'd always shied away from anal play, but perhaps I had a thing or two (or three) to learn from my son for as he moved his thumb - rotated it, jaggled it, slid it back and forth - my backside merged with my sex and the fire in my gut shined brighter, burned hotter. I rocked my ass on my son's hand, gasped, "Anh, anh, anh, anh, anh, anh, anh, anh, anh, anh, anh anh, anh, anh, anh, anh." My core burned, my sex and rump became indistinguishable.

"Squeeze your tits."

I moved a hand off the shower wall, rolled a wet nipple between my fingers.

"My god, so good, so so good."

I'd never trusted anyone enough to let them play with my backside, worried that if they wanted to they were a pervert and if let them so was I. But I had none of those fears with Christopher. We had no pasts to hide, no secrets to conceal. I could give him my sexual self in a way I'd never given it to anyone else. Dr. Wilhelm was right, mother and son was good, right, and natural.

My son reached around, covered my clit with a finger, slid his thumb into my vagina; his thumbs, separated only by the thin wall between vagina and asshole, touched each other, then rotating his thumb he pressed it to my g-spot.

"OOOoohhhhhhh goooodddddddddddddddd yyyeeeeessssssssss ssssssssssssssss."

Covering my breasts with my hands, twisting my nipples, the swaying of my ass and hips synchronized to the movement of Christopher's thumbs. The catalyzed flame overwhelmed me and screaming, "OHH... UNNGGGGHGGG... EEENNYYAAAHHHHHH," I came. Inside me a torrent was let loose, engulfing me in a deluge of sensations arriving at speeds and in quantities impossible to process. I was a marionette, dancing in rapturous joy, my body swamped, my soul drowning, my mind inundated, any doubt as to the course my life was about to take washed away.

Floating back to earth, I noticed I was in a shower, that water was running over my naked body. Legs rubbery I sank to the floor, settled into my son's arms, kissed him and as strength crept back into my body said, "Wow, that was amazing. Give me a second Christopher, then Mommy will wash you."

He said, "I'd like that," and when I was ready I nodded. He stood, offered me his hand, helped me up.

I did not have his patience. Squirting body-wash onto the loofa, I quickly cleaned his back, arms, and chest and when I knelt forget about his legs, for his penis, hard and thick, swung before me. I squeezed an ample dollop of body-wash in my palm, frigged it, dragged my thumb across its head, kissed the crown, then parted my lips and took his rigid hot cock in my mouth, my lips compressed on his sensitive skin. I was sucking my son's cock; he, steadying himself with his hands on the wall, watched me take him deep into my mouth.

When he reached the back I wrapped my hand on the shaft. There were several inches to go. My boy was hung.

I moved back until only the crown was between my lips, then forward, my tongue relentlessly working the shaft. When he again reached the back of my mouth I tilted my head, slid him to the entrance to my throat, thought about shoving my face onto him, deep-throating him. But I hadn't tried that since college and it didn't go particularly well then. Best to save the experiment. Instead I bobbed my head, sucked hard, licked hard, cradled and rolled his balls, the sounds of my slurping mixing with that of the shower and filling the room. My jaw began to ache, my lips grew numb, but I kept at it: I wanted him to come in my mouth, to show I'd deny him nothing, knowing he'd do the same for me. I increased my pace, heard his animal moans, felt his balls quiver, pull back into his body. Intertwining his fingers in my wet hair he said, "Mom, I'm going to come, going to..."

Groaning, I shoved my head onto his dick, ran my tongue on its underside. It pulsed and swelled, I squeezed his balls and was rewarded when cum flooded my mouth. Greedy for every drop I gulped and sucked and he shot again, a second wave nearly as prodigious as the first. It swirled through my mouth, cascaded down my throat, spilled from the edges of my lips. Knees shaky, Christopher stumbled back and his cock slid from my mouth. I grabbed it, jerked it, looked up, and he came again, splashing his third load onto my face and breasts, which was quickly washed away by the shower. Smiling my most wicked smile I licked my lips and said, "Best we practice, make sure next time I swallow it all, unless you prefer coming on your mother."

Saying, "This is going to be amazing," he took my hand, helped me up; our mouths joined and I reached for his penis, fondled and stroked it. Never completely soft, it was growing, hardening, until it was again like steel.

My son was a fricking stud. I was exactly the kind of oversexed bitch he needed

When our kiss ended Christopher shut off the shower and said, "Let's do your hair." We stepped out, dried each other, and I sat at my vanity while he combed and blow-dried I, watching our naked bodies in the mirror, enjoyed his careful attention.

No woman ever had a better lover. "Christopher, I love you so much."

"I love you Mom."

When he finished we kissed and I got on the bed, crawled forward on hands and knees, presenting him his mother's pussy, swollen, wet, ready to go, looking over my shoulder when I reached the center. He was grinning, loving the site, and in the mirror behind him I saw my own happy face and pouting sex. We'd get more mirrors.

"What are you waiting for stud?"

He said, "Enjoying the view," moved behind me, placed his hands on my hips, then guided me onto my back saying, "I love the idea of taking you from behind, but the first time I want to look in your eyes."

I said, "I'd like that," and spread my legs

He knelt between them. "Another thing Mom, when I've imagined this moment, I always thought first I'd eat your sexy snatch, graze a bit. I mean if you like that kind of thing."

I ran a finger on my pussy lips, sighed in pleasure, said, "I do."

He winked, laid between my legs, blew air on my wet sex through pursed lips, brushed my pussy with his flat of his strong tongue.

"UNNGGGHHHH AHHHHHHHH,"

He ate me; his tongue was nimble and bold, his lips active and firm. He visited and explored every crevice and corner and curve; I felt it in my fingers and toes. My desire for him, the flame in my core, grew ever hotter; my sex swelled, dripped juice, the pungent smell of my arousal swallowing the scent of the body-wash. Holding me by the ass, he cupped his tongue, plunged it in my vagina; holding him by the back of his head, I humped my sex on his mouth. There was incestuous perfect pressure in my belly, growing, roaring, threatening to tear me apart.

OHHHHH YEEESSSSSS"

His hands went to my breasts, rolled my nipples. Writhing under his erotic assault I yelped, "OH GGOOOOODDDDDD YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS."

He moved up, sucked my clit, slid two fingers inside me, twisted them.

"ARRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHH!"

My clit throbbed in his mouth, my cunt on his fingers. My gut was a spring, tightened past its capability, then tightened some more.

Turning my head to the side I watched us in the mirror. I thought about Scott and Julie, about the sons and mothers I'd met over the past months, so happy and content. I thought about my son. He was eating my pussy, not as a step on the road to fucking me, but because he wanted to, because he loved making his mother feel good. He'd do it again and again, as I'd suck his cock. I imagined him fucking me, fucking me in every room in the house, fucking me under the sun and the stars.

Dr. Wilhelm was right: mothers and sons were meant to be together, and at that moment, at that thought, the spring inside me cut loose. With a yip that rocketed through registers I hadn't imagined my voice capable I sang my joy and exploded on his indefatigable unrelenting mouth, then rode the tidal wave born in my core until, spent and satiated, my sweat soaked body sank into the bed. Breathing in deep hard gasps I lay a hand on my chest, felt my thundering heart.

His fingers left my sex and I let out a soft moan of disappointment, then purred as he moved up next to me, took me in his arms. I felt his dick pulsating on my leg, thick and hard, warm with blood.

I kissed him, said, "It's time Christopher."

His moved atop me. I reached for it, pressed the cock-head to the clit, slid it down my sex - soaking wet, dripping juice - slipped it inside me, just a bit, so it just spread my pussy lips, then moved my mouth to his ear and in a low voice said, "Christopher, do it."

Lifting his head he looked at me, saw a combination of infinite yearning and perfect lust: the love of a mother for a son, the desire of a woman for a man, the devotion of soul-mates united by a shared lifetime.

He slid into me, his hard cock filled my cunt.

That first time we fucked, we fucked for a long time. About an hour I'd guess, although I didn't think to keep track for a story I didn't know I'd write. We'd go slow, then fast, change positions. His cock filled me over and over, soon I knew each ridge, curve, and valley. I came so many times, I wish I could tell you how many, but again, I didn't count, I didn't know I'd write this story.

The room stank of sex and sweat, the bed was a ruin, and finally he was on top of me, doing it the old fashioned way, and we both knew it was time. He drove me into the mattress and although I was exhausted and spent, fueled by love and lust and destiny I found my third wind, locked my legs around his waist, dug my fingernails into his back, told him to fuck me, to fuck his mother, to fill her with cum. I clenched the walls of my sex on him and drove my hips into him and watched his jaw tighten and eyes scrunch until, with a guttural animal moan that over the years I'd come to love, his entire body shuddered and he climaxed, filling the place where he'd been conceived, the place he'd developed, the place from which he'd entered the world, with his sperm, the seed that, if not this time, would at some future time grow inside me and become our child. As I'd borne him, I'd bear his, our, progeny.