It's a little weird being the only human at your high school. You feel caught somewhere in the middle of being a celebrity and a freak. Some people seemingly look up to you or give you special treatment, while others go out of their way to avoid you or pretend you don't exist. Whatever end of that spectrum they happened to land on, there were very few that just treated me normally. It felt like that for pretty much the entire four years, and soon, I'd get to feel that way for another four...in college. Hooray.

We had plenty of canines, felines, avians, reptilians; but nope, only one human. Me, Bradley. All of these different species had human-like anatomy interestingly enough, including genitalia and general body and bone structure. The main differences were the fur, facial features, and tails (plus a few other minor attributes). But besides that, they weren't all that different. I, however, was one of the few people lucky enough to be a part of a "miraculous" medical phenomenon known as SSC, or "Spontaneous Sapien Conception." That's where two normal parents were given the surprise of a human boy or girl in their litter of (insert animal here). Scientists couldn't explain it, doctors couldn't explain it; nobody on the planet had any idea how two creatures of the same species could produce an offspring of a different species. It made no sense to them, so it sure as hell made no sense to me. But here I am, a human born from two wolf people with two wolf siblings.

Regardless of how lonely that all sounds, I'm not the only human on the planet. There are actually 103,247 of us, to be exact. That figure obviously fluctuates a bit every year, and against a total planet population of 7.6 billion, it's fair to say that I'm in the minority. But at the end of the day, it brings me comfort to know that I'm not the only one going through the "human experience." Just the only one in my city. Of half a million people. Still a little isolating if I'm being completely honest.

Now, the thing is, being human isn't really the only thing that makes me stand out from the other people my age. You see, everybody has secrets, vices, things they use to cope with the daily pressures of school, work, society, or all of the above. Dad smoked his cigarettes, Benny enjoyed his chocolate, Jess had her reality dating shows, and Mom... well, I guess she had the same one as me. But the point is, everybody has their dirty laundry. Nobody's perfect, and unless you're a murderer or pedophile or something crazy like that, nobody's really better than anyone else. We've all got good traits and... traits we'd rather keep to ourselves.

My secret isn't the fact that I'm the only human at my high school or in my city; hell, I wish I could keep that a secret. No, the other thing that set me apart besides my furless, featherless, scaleless skin, was the fact that I was probably the only person at that school who filled his mother's ass with cum before first period.

I'm probably gonna need to explain that part.

The short version: me and my mom fuck. Like a lot. As in, I bend her over in the shower and she rides me before bed, sort of deal. Basically, we try to seize any and all opportunities for my dick to be inside of her one way or another. Yeah, okay, you're probably gonna want the long version.

It started a few months ago. Well, technically for me, it started a couple years before that. 

Like most horny 16 year-olds, I had a routine consumption of porn. And like most of us "rare specimens," I grew up primarily around non-humans, so that's naturally who I was attracted to. Canines and felines were my go-to, specifically huskies and tigers. I occasionally dabbled in avian stuff, but the other two took up most of my viewing (and jerking) time. I'd considered my taste in porn pretty vanilla, never watching anything too extreme or out of the ordinary. I really liked doggystyle, cowgirl, and missionary, but I mean, who didn't? Those were literally the most common positions. But even though I didn't really realize it at the time, most of the women in those videos—in those positions— were a fair bit older than their partners. I'd subconsciously been spending most of time in the MILF categories, watching all of these gorgeous older women do just about anything for their eighteen to twenty-something year-old counterparts. 

I never really thought about why I liked older women so much, I just knew that they really, really turned me on at the time. If I had to explain it now, especially after everything I've been up to the past few months, I could tell you exactly why:

1) The power dynamic:
90 percent of the time, older women are far more experienced than girls your own age. Like with anything, more practice equals better performance. MILF's were better at kissing, sucking dick, riding cock; you name it, they were usually better at it. That, of course, makes the act itself significantly more pleasurable in its own right, but for me, it's also more than that. I love how the woman is in control of the experience. Even when she's getting her back blown out from behind, it's because she says so. She's the matriarch, and unless she relinquishes that control, she's the one calling the shots. And I absolutely love that.

2) The size difference:
I'm 5'11 (6ft on a good day). By human metrics, that's not too bad. A bit above average. But by non-human standards, it was a bit on the shorter side. Wolves, on the other hand, were usually in the mid-6ft range. Mom is 6'3, Dad is 6'5, Jess is 6'1, and Benny isn't too far off from matching me. The point is, most older ladies are taller than me, and quite honestly, I kind of love it. Being with a bigger, taller woman is amazing because, by comparison, there's more of her to love. Her butt and thighs consume your lap and she could suffocate you with her breasts. It almost feels like making love with an Amazonian warrior or a demi-godess...and it fucking rules.

3) Their body types:
This one kind of relates to my previous point, but it's still worth mentioning. A MILF's body is usually amazing. At least, they were in the videos I watched (and in my house in real life). They had big round asses, thick thighs, and plump breasts. MILF's aren't usually skinny supermodels; they're mature, full, hardy women with the goods to make you drool. 

Now, I've only been with one woman, so I don't really have anyone to compare these traits with. My data on this subject is purely from hours of online "research," as well as personal, anecdotal experience. My word isn't gospel, just a tried and true opinion. 

So to summarize: I find older women extremely attractive and have for a few years. But you don't really want to hear about that, I suppose. You want to hear about one woman in particular. Well, here it is.

Now, I'm not sure where you stand on the whole "fucking my mom" bombshell I dropped earlier. But if you're still here, then I assume you're at least on the fence about it. Well, let me tell you, if you saw what my mom looked like—how her ass looked—in the bikini she wore to our neighbor's annual pool party last summer, you'd most likely join my side of that fence real quick. Hell, you might even give me a high-five for everything else that I've gotten to do since. But anyways, back to the bikini. Her damned bikini. That's really what kicked off this whole saga. 

Unlike humans, animal people had less of their body to cover up. Their natural body coverings, whether that be fur or what have you, made it so that they didn't usually need as much clothing year-round, especially during the summer months. People with fur could comfortably wear shorts and a t-shirt in the winter, and perhaps just a little more if the cold happened to be extra unforgiving that year. And if it was the summer, well... they would wear significantly less than that. Some may not agree with this way of dressing—such as those with a particular interest in fashion or those who practice more conservative values—but generally, this was the way things were.

So suffice to say, a pool party comprised of older (mostly attractive) feline and canine women wearing just enough to conceal their most intimate bits was rather challenging for a sexually active 17 year-old.

I'd already had my eye on MILF's for about a year at that point, and just about any single one of them made my knees weak and my palms sweat.

But my mom... my mom was by far the most stunning woman at that party.

For reference, my mother is a 45 year-old, six-foot-three wolf named Heather. Well, half-wolf that is. She's actually half husky, and that half is where she got the majority of her appearance. Her coat is a darker gray on her back, outer arms, and outer thighs, as well as the top half of her tail. The rest of her fur is white, safe for the top of her head. Her eyes are a lovely dark purple, her teeth are white, and her muzzle is a bit shorter than most huskies. Her chest is fitted with two D-cups that sit high above her thick, gapless thighs with a big, round behind to match. She's fairly fit, but not muscular. She traded in her abs for a small belly in her late 20's after she had the three of us, which was about five years after she met Dad. So basically, she was perfect. 

Now that you get the picture, I'll continue:

On that fateful day, the day of the party, she wore a navy blue bikini, one I'd never seen before. Her D-cups were spilling out of the top in nearly all directions, and her luscious buttcheeks were all but consuming the bottom. I'd never seen that much of her body before since she usually had worn one-piece suits most of the time in the past. This bikini left little to the imagination... and it stirred something in me I couldn’t have predicted. For the duration of the party, I was mostly able to keep myself in check by participating in pool games and gorging myself with hotdogs and soda, but even all of that wasn't enough to stop me from stealing the occasional glance of my mother's perfect body throughout the day. She looked especially good coming out of the pool, soaking wet, beads of water dripping off of her short fur.

Later that night, after the festivities were said and done, I tossed and turned while trying to fall asleep. My conscience was still in control at that point, and it caused me immense guilt for the way I was ogling my mother at the pool. It was the reason I was restless, as it actively tried to combat the perverted and increasingly graphic images my mind began to conjure in the quiet blanket of night. After a well-fought battle, my conscience conceded to my primal instincts, and the fantasies ran absolutely rampant. 

First, I imagined my mother, just as she looked in the pool earlier that day, pushing herself up against me and kissing me. I could picture her wet breasts squishing against my chest, the sensation of her hot breath on my neck. I pondered that idea for a little while, still feeling like I hadn't mentally crossed a line yet. But that scene had started getting me hard, and the harder I got, the more devious my imagination got. 

The next phase of my fantasy is what propelled me to act on said hardness. I imagined her standing on the steps of the pool with her butt just a bit above water level. Her dripping wet, thick, meaty butt. Her back was arched and her tail was raised. She looked back at me over her right shoulder and beckoned to me with a single, revolving finger. It was like I knew what she wanted, and I had no issue delivering. So I slowly waded through the clear water until I was directly behind her. I got down on my knees so that my face was level with her ass. I took my fingers and tucked them into the waistband of her bikini bottom before peeling them downward, all the way to her knees. 

I was masturbating quite vigorously at that point, desperately trying to create a vivid image of what my mom's pussy and asshole might've looked like. My actions in that moment were now being driven solely by primitive urges... by lust. As a result, I had no second thoughts about where my fantasy led next. As you probably deduced, I unapologetically and enthusiastically imagined devouring my mother's ass. Stuffing my nose in her butt while lapping up her muff. For about 5 seconds, I fantasized about committing an unspeakable, incestuous act with my mother. For 5 seconds, I mentally crossed a line I would never be able to uncross. And then... I finished all over my belly. I came to the thought of performing oral sex on my own mother.

Believe it or not, I felt terrible about it at first. I had nightmares afterwards and slept terribly. The next couple of days, I couldn’t make eye contact with her out of shame and disgust with myself. Even my social interactions at work and at school felt different. Like I was living a lie, or like I was a different person.

Frankly, I kind of was from that point on. Because as shitty as I felt for the first few days after imagining dining on my mom's holes poolside, it wasn't enough to stop the increasingly graphic and appealing intrusive thoughts that kept popping into my head. I kept trying to stave them off, to focus on something or someone else, but at the end of the day, I was powerless to overcome this new perversion centered around my mother. 

At that point, I gave into my newfound desires, masturbating to the thought of her at least once a day. I imagined doing just about everything I could think of doing with her, and ran those clips through my mind over and over. All sorts of scenarios, positions, and locations; it never felt stale. I found each fantasy endlessly enticing, and it became so routine that I no longer felt guilty about it.

"It's just a weird fetish. Not a big deal," is what I told myself. 

And it wasn't really. I kept it to myself, and it wasn't hurting anyone. I didn't even struggle to interact with her anymore. I think by that point I was able to see her as two different versions of the same person: the doting woman who supported, loved, and raised me, and the sex-crazed milf who loved taking my dick in any hole. Both could exist separately, and I was perfectly content with that.

Or... so I thought, at least.

I know this is taking a lot of your time, but if you stick around, you'll see why all of this context is important.

I assume you're probably wondering about how my dad fits into this picture. You might be thinking I dislike him or that he's a deadbeat or something, but the truth is, it's quite the opposite. I actually love my dad a lot. But the main problem with our relationship is... well... we don't really have much of one. It's great when he's around. We watch movies, go for bike rides, get dinner, etc.... But his job as an international lawyer doesn't really allow him to do that much. He tries his best to be there for us, but when he works as hard as he does to give us the comfortable, upper middle-class life we're so grateful to have, it isn't really enough. I often felt like I'd gladly trade in our nice house for a smaller one if it meant I got to see my dad more, but that decision was never up to me. It is what it is, I guess.

But Dad's being away for ninety percent of the time is crucial for two reasons: it resulted in the second catalyst that paved the way for my sexual journey, and it created plenty of opportunity to do so. Let me explain. 

Because Dad traveled a lot, he and Mom obviously had to maintain a long-distance relationship (something that's always easier said than done). Now, while I didn't know for sure at the time, I had my suspicions that maybe they'd been maintaining an intimate, long-distance relationship as well, with possible lewd photos or late-night chats. During my mother-focused masturbation sessions, I often wondered if there was a way I could see her naked, and the possible existence of such photos very much piqued my interest. That being said, I wasn't so unhinged as to rifle through her things looking for some. Like I mentioned, I'd gotten pretty good at separating the fantasy from reality. At least, I had been getting good at it.

One afternoon, I was in the kitchen, sitting at the table. It was about 3:30pm, and I had to start getting ready for work in a little while. Mom was in the smaller bathroom on the main floor just around the corner from the kitchen when her phone went off. It was a text from her friend about what time she should come over to drop off some chrysanthemus she'd picked. The only catch was that Mom left her phone at the kitchen table across from me, where she'd been sitting.

I heard her call out from the bathroom; her voice muffled, "Honey, that's Gina. Would you mind texting her back for me? Just tell her I'll call her back soon."

"Yup, no problem!" I replied with a raised voice.

I picked up her phone and clicked open her lockscreen. Much to my surprise, there was no passcode. I chuckled to myself at the lack of proper security measures that some older folk didn't take seriously before accessing her app screen. 

"You should really have a passode, Mom," I called out playfully. 

I heard her chuckle from inside the bathroom, "How did I know you were going to say something?"

I smiled and shook my head. Just as I was about to tap on her "messages" app, another icon caught my eye. "Gallery" was only two rows beneath it. My heart skipped a beat, and my mind immediately went to the place I thought I could keep locked away until bedtime. Just seeing that app ignited something within me. A strong, mischievous desire to confirm my suspicions, and a golden opportunity to do so. Part of me didn't think I'd find anything, and the other part of me, the part that was starting to stiffen from simply seeing the word "gallery," was really hoping I would. 

Surprisingly, I overcame my devious impulse and clicked on the "messages" app like I was instructed to. I typed out a nice, well-written response to Mom's friend, like a good son would.

"Hey Gina, it's Bradley. Mom says she'll call you back in a bit. She'll let you know when's a good time for you to pop by tomorrow. Thanks :)" I wrote.

Sent.

And once that was done... I immediately went back to her home screen and tapped on her photo gallery. My heart beat rapidly as I looked at the thumbnails of her photo albums. There was nothing special about them, but just the anticipation of possibly seeing what I thought I might was enough to make my face hot and my pulse race. She only had a couple beyond "camera roll," "screenshots," and "downloads," but I already knew exactly where I was headed. I tapped on her camera roll as if it were instinct. If I hadn't known I was extremely aroused, I'd have thought I was going into cardiac arrest. 

The first few rows appeared on screen. They were rows of four, so the thumbnails were neither big nor small. Initially... everything was PG. A handful of selfies, some gardening shots, and a few homecooked meals were the only sights to behold. As bad it was to say (since I was invading my mother's privacy), I was disappointed. I scrolled through row after row of normal, everyday photos. To be honest, I didn't really know what I expected. It's not like I was going to find photoshoots of my suburban mother doing pornstar things. Spreading her asscheeks, squeezing her tits— I guess at the very least I was just hoping to get a small glimpse of the parts of her that I could only imagine in my fantasies. I felt like an idiot and an asshole. Not only did I violate my mother's trust, but I came up empty-handed. I felt absolutely pathetic.

That was... at least... until I scrolled down about ten more rows. 

The thumbnails in the album started to become less green or brown, and instead started to turn red and white. A lot of gray, and a lot of white. And... some pink.

I didn't even have to expand them to know what I'd found. But I still did anyway.

I tapped one of the little squares, and in an instant... my mother's vagina took up the entire screen. It was a detailed, high-definition, close-up shot of her pussy. 

Yup.

My vision instantly became blurry. My ears rang, and I could feel my heartbeat in my head and fingertips. I felt like I was dreaming, like it wasn't real. But I wasn't, and it was.

I swiped left and right between photos, each one hitting me like a shot of adrenaline. I saw her pinching her nipples, full body shots of her posing in the mirror, ones of her touching herself, her bare ass; my brain couldn't even process all of it. It was too much all at once. 

Suddenly, a shift of movement in the bathroom almost made me fall out of my chair and toss her phone across the room. Mom was about to be back. In that moment, I quickly realized I only had one goal, and it was to get a copy of those photos. I grabbed my phone frantically, trying to think of the fastest way to accomplish that task. Email? No. There were too many. Take photos of her screen with my phone? That'd take too long. Then, almost as if I were destined to possess naked photographs of my own mother, I remembered the "airdrop" feature I'd finally figured out how to use only a couple weeks prior. I hadn't used it once until that moment.

Another sign.

I quickly highlighted all twenty of the pictures and selected the airdrop option. My hands shook violently to where I almost couldn't do it. But sure enough, just as I heard the bathroom door open, the haul was secured on my phone, her gallery app was closed, and her phone was locked and back on the table where I found it. The only thing out of order were my physical symptoms that I couldn't hide in time.

Mom walked into the kitchen and looked at me, instantly noticing that something was off, "Are you okay? You look pale as a ghost."

My head was still buzzing, but it'd cleared up enough for me to formulate a (mostly) clever response, "Actually, I'm not feeling too good. I think I'm going to call in sick tonight."

"Oh really? What's wrong?" she asked, concerned. 

I got up with wobbly knees and headed towards the stairs, "Not sure. I don't think I got enough sleep last night. I'm just gonna call the store, then lay down." 

"Alright, baby. Well, just let me know if you need anything, okay?" she said sweetly.

"Okay, I will. Thanks, Mom," I replied.

Little did she know that I already had everything I needed. 

When I got to my room, I called my store and told them I wasn't going in. That part was true. But the part about going for a nap... not so much. Because, as I'm sure you probably have already guessed, I spent the rest of the night examining every pixel of those photos. By midnight, I'd emptied my balls three times over, and the line that I'd drawn between the two versions of my mom had ceased to exist. 

Don't worry, we're almost there. I realize I probably come across as just some pervert who crossed multiple lines no one should ever cross. And you know, I'd probably have to agree for the most part. But as I spoiled earlier, this story has a happy ending—well, multiple happy endings if I'm being honest. 

Those naked photos of Mom were the center of my life for the next few months. I was obsessed. They were every bit as glorious at I'd imagined, and I got just as turned on every time I opened them on my phone. You couldn't have paid me to get rid of them. They were worth more to me than all the money in the world, and I looked at them multiple times a day. I even pulled them up at school if no one was looking and if I needed a pick-me-up. She was just... perfect. All of her. She was perfect. 

But as much as I'd like to say everything was peachy, I'd be lying if I did. And I haven't lied yet.

Even though I never would've admitted it at the time, the photos were also kind of ruining my life. My grades were slipping—not a lot, but enough to a notice the beginning of a bad trend. I was also showing up late to work, not getting enough sleep, socializing with friends less often, and worst of all, my relationships were becoming strained. Especially with Mom. The woman who I was unhealthily infatuated with. The beautiful, caring, supportive, loving person who'd taken care of me my entire 18 years of life, was the one person I could barely bring myself to look at. I kept conversations short, rarely made eye contact, and ultimately avoided her if possible. Even with that little contact, the only thing I could think about when I interacted with her was her naked body, and all of the degenerate things I imagined doing with her. 

Once again, with the power those photos had over me, I never would have admitted how depressed I was at the time or how deep down I wished I'd never found them. But despite that, I still knew something was wrong with me. All of the real-life fallout made that pretty clear eventually, so I knew something had to change. While there was absolutely no reality where I would fully delete the photos, I landed on what seemed like a reasonable compromise. Instead of keeping them on my phone, where I could look at them 24/7, I would move them onto my laptop, where my access was more limited. Looking at them less would make me think about them less, and therefore, I'd stop screwing everything up less. That was my logic, at least.

So one afternoon before work, I did just that. I plugged my phone into my laptop and transferred my favorite twenty images in existence over to my computer and off of my phone. I actually felt pretty good about that decision. I was proud of myself (as proud as someone could be for reducing his consumption of his mother's stolen nudes). However, even though I'd made a semi-responsible decision for once, I did it in a pretty half-assed, irresponsible sort of way. Like with most things I did, I procrastinated and didn't give myself enough time to get ready for work. So yes, I got the photos off of my phone, but because I was rushing, I left all twenty of them right there on my desktop.

Oh, and... I didn't shut my laptop either. Oops.

I was completely oblivious to the fact that such a blatant act of negligence was the final catalyst in taking things where they were today. And I wasn't even remotely ready for it.

I went to work that night, actually making it on time for once, and then proceeded to work my shift like usual. I got all of the product unloaded and out to the floor, shot the shit with a few coworkers, and took a thirty minute break instead of my allotted fifteen. It was a good night overall. Even though I still thought about the photos of Mom throughout the shift, I actually didn't miss having them on me as much as I thought I would. I felt good about it, and I could tell I was starting to come out of the depressive slump I was in. 

After work, I got in around 9:30pm (my usual time). My sister was out with her boyfriend, my little brother was in bed already, and as per typical, Dad was away on work business. The house smelled of chili, my mom's famous recipe. Well, famous in our household at least. She had done up a whole pot a couple hours earlier, and boy did it make my unfed stomach growl. When I entered the kitchen after tossing my shoes and backpack to the side, I found Mom listening to music with a glass of red wine in hand. 

"Hey, Mom," I greeted normally. 

"Hey, baby," she replied normally. 

Everything seemed just that way: normal.
 
"How was your day?" I asked. 

"It was fine. Just did some housecleaning, went for a short walk, and...that's about it," she chuckled, seemingly buzzed, "How was work?"

I went to the cabinet beside her and grabbed a clean bowl, "Oh, you know, just another day. Nothing too exciting. Glad to be home now, though." 

She smiled and took a sip from her glass. "Want to watch something with dinner? It's just the two of us tonight." 

I chimed in immediately, "Like usual?" 

"Haha, yes, I guess so," she chuckled. 

"I'd love to, Mom, but I gotta work on my project tonight. We can tomorrow, though!" I said, placing a third scoop of hot chili in my bowl. 

"Oh, okay, no problem, sweetie."

She seemed a bit disappointed, but unfortunately I left most of my work until the last minute. I didn't have a choice but to get it all done that night. 

I grabbed a spoon out of the drawer and plunked it into my chili, "Thanks for the chili, Mom. Looks delicious." 

She smiled while taking another swig, waving me away to go do my work.

Now, I don't always have a great sense of these things, but that night... I did. I had this feeling in the back of my mind that there was something left unsaid in that short exchange. Something was different, and I was the one who was in the dark. 

And sure enough, my gut was right on the money. 

Just as I was about to head upstairs to my room, chili in hand... I heard Mom call out to me from behind. 

Quiet enough for only me to hear, she asked, "Does your project have anything to do with those naked pictures of me on your laptop?"

Okay, so, the first thing that went through my mind was that it was in my head. My conscience just playing tricks on me. Showing me a possible scenario where Mom found out about what I'd been doing. Surely, there was no conceivable way that she knew; it just didn't make sense, I thought. But when I turned around and found her glaring at me with an interrogative look, I started to believe that maybe I had heard correctly.

She stood there in her green turtleneck and jeans, arms crossed, wine in hand. 

How. The fuck. Did she know?

I'm surprised I didn't drop everything I was holding.

I'm not sure how many people had been in this situation before—it felt pretty unique to me quite honestly—but I did what I thought anyone else would do, the only thing I could do at that point: play dumb.

"What are you talking about?" I asked half-convincingly.

Great, set her up to double down. Real slick.

She took a slow sip of wine, not breaking eye contact with me as my heart kicked up about seven or eight gears. 

I couldn't get a read on her expression. It felt like I was about to be in the most trouble I'd ever been in in my life, but she didn't seem particularly angry or upset. She was calm, collected, like she'd been waiting and planning to confront me like this. Honestly, it was more terrifying than if she was just angry. 

Focusing on me intently, "I'm talking about all of the naked photos of me. I found them on your laptop today when I was vacuuming. I bumped into it, it turned on, and voilà, there they were."

I hoped she'd just keep talking so that I wouldn't have to respond, but nope, she left the floor open for me. Her gaze was piercing.

I decided to continue the act, "I... I have no idea how those could've gotten on there. Was Dad using it?" 

It was a pretty lame approach, but looking back, I'm surprised I even did that well. It took every fiber of my being not to get on my knees and beg for forgiveness in that moment. It was incredibly naive, but I still thought I could talk my way out of it.

But the way her left eyebrow raised and how she crossed her arms basically shouted, "How stupid do you think I am?" I knew she wasn't, which is why my claim to innocence was that much more pathetic.

For what felt like the longest pause of my life, we stood there looking at each other in complete silence, both withholding information. She wasn't going to spell it out, and neither could I. But that didn't stop her from being the first to end the uncomfortably long break in conversation.

Mom took a couple of slow steps towards me, her glass almost empty. She spoke softly, but firmly, "Since you don't want to be honest with me, I'll be honest with you. You don't seem to realize what a sick violation of privacy this is. Those were private photos. I don't know how you got them, or why, but this is very serious."

Yup, this was the reaction I was expecting. Didn't make me feel any less shitty.

"Mom, I –"

She aimed her finger at me, but it was the deathly fire in her eyes that made me shut up. I'd only seen that sort of anger from her maybe a handful of times. I was terrified.

But instead of blowing up, she retracted her finger, took a deep breath, and calmly said, "Until you're ready to show me some respect and have a real talk, I'll hold on to your laptop and your phone."

The laptop wasn't a huge deal since I didn't use it very often, but the phone was a real kick in the nuts. I wasn't about to argue with her, though. 

I replied with a slow, defeated nod, then I turned around and made my way upstairs to my room.

I know, after all of that, it's probably pretty difficult to see how things end up going the way they do. Trust me, I never could have seen it coming in a million years, either. 

I plunked my bowl of room temperature chili down on my desk. I wasn't the slightest bit hungry anymore. In fact, I felt sick to my stomach. Before curling up in my bed like the pathetic weasel I saw myself as, I placed my laptop and phone just outside my door on the carpet, as requested. I heard her come by a few minutes later and take them, but I didn't even care at that point. 

I flicked off the lights, got undressed, and slipped under the covers of my queen bed. 

Part of me thought that if I just went to sleep, I would wake up and everything would be back to normal. Not like I really knew where normal began or ended at that point, though. Was "normal" jerking off to photos of my mother before she caught me? Or was it before last summer at the pool when I first looked at her the wrong way? Didn't matter either way, because I couldn't fall asleep if my life depended on it. 

I was hot, my head hurt, and most of all, I couldn't help but feel like my life was over. If Mom told literally anyone else about what I'd done, it would be over. If Dad, Benny, or Jess found out? The family would be shattered. If someone outside of the house found out? I'd be a social pariah for the rest of my life. I already got enough attention as the only human in town. Combine that with being a pervert who jerked off to his own mother? Just shoot me then and there. Right there in my bed.

I won't lie, I got really low that night. All of the guilt I had about my "crush," the guilt I thought that I'd buried, compounded and came back tenfold. My mind became a cloud of anxiety and depression, thinking about all of the possible futures I had ahead of me. I ran through every scenario in my head, every outcome, every single way life was gonna go after that night... except for one.

It eventually got to be around 3:30am. After hours of tossing and turning, I'd conceded that I most likely wouldn't be getting any sleep that night. I just laid on my back in the dark, staring up at the ceiling. I heard Jess get home a little while after I came upstairs, and Benny had been sound asleep through the whole debacle. Like usual...still no Dad. I heard Mom shower an hour or two earlier—I couldn't tell for sure since my sense of time was fuzzy in the state of mind I was in—but I figured she'd gone to bed straight afterwards like usual. She usually turned in around eleven, but since she'd found out her son was a lying pervert earlier in the night, I guess I should've expected that she wouldn't be getting much sleep either.

What I didn't expect, however, was a faint knock at my door so late in the night. 

I was a bit delirious from lack of sleep as well as from the depressive spiral I was in, so the first knock didn't even really register. It took until the second time (about 10 seconds later) that I realized I wasn't hearing things. 

I already knew who it was, I just wasn't sure I wanted to speak to her (or even look at her for that matter). I was surprised she assumed I was still awake given the complete darkness I'd enveloped myself in, but based on my typical 4am/5am bedtime, I guess she figured there was a good chance she'd catch me.

I heard a soft whisper through the door, "Can I talk to you?" I didn't detect any sort of anger or hostility, but hints of compassion and understanding instead. Almost like when I was upset and she comforted me. It was... reassuring. After hours of contemplating my hopeless future or complete lack there of, simply the tone of her voice was enough to reveal the smallest glimpse of light at the end of the tunnel—enough to grant her access to my chamber of despair.

"Come in," I replied, the first one coming out weezy and weak after not having spoken for hours. I cleared my throat and repeated myself, and so she came in.

Mom entered quietly, shutting the door behind her so that one could barely hear the click. I sat up and flicked on the small lamp on my bedside table before resting my back against the wall. It was more so that I could see her, considering that she already saw pretty well in the dark. It was blinding at first.

"Hey," I said simply, rubbing my restless eyes.

"Hi," she replied.

She was wearing her black bathrobe, tied tightly at her waist. Her fur was mostly dry but still had a few damp spots from her shower. The fruity scent of her bodywash naturally filled the room after a few moments. It was actually quite enchanting to my nostrils despite my wanting to be alone.

"You're up late," I observed, trying to avoid the elephant in the room. 

"Yes... I couldn’t fall asleep."

I looked anywhere but into her eyes. Her forehead or neck was the closest I could get.

"Can I sit down?" she asked politely.

I wanted to say no, knowing that another interrogation was impending, but I appreciated the tone and approach she was using, so I betrayed my gut and nodded in response. She sat on the edge of the bed right beside my legs and let out a long, exhausted sigh, almost as if she had no clue how to handle this situation I'd created. I didn't blame her. Who would?

We sat in silence for another minute or so. She looked around the room, inspecting my various trinkets and film-inspired artwork on the walls. During those dark hours between 10p.m. and 3a.m., I experimented with various scripts in my mind about what I would say in this conversation. I thought I'd maybe have another day or so to work on it, so I didn't end up getting all that far. Just as I was about to begin delivering my rough first draft, she beat me to it.

"Bradley... I know how hard things have been on you over the last few years."

Hm... wasn't expecting that. But I listened intently nonetheless.

"Being the only human in Woolhope, at your school, at home... I can only imagine how lonely and isolated you must feel sometimes." 

Mom reached over and gently took my hand into hers. The warmth of her furry touch was comforting.

"When you were born, your father and I knew that you'd face some challenges in your life. Making friends, forming relationships, and socializing in general can be a tall order for anyone out there. For most people, it is."

I still couldn't look her in the eyes, but I was trying.

"People can be shallow, honey. They can be so superficial that they don't even give you a chance, just because you may be different on the outside. But it's what's on the inside that matters. It's what's inside that determines who you are and what you make of your life."

I nodded subtly. Her words were so kind.

"No matter how lonely you may feel, just know in your heart that you are an incredibly smart, handsome, sweet, and loving young man who can do anything he sets his mind to; no matter what anyone else may think. And you have a father, a brother, a sister..." she emphasized the last part, "and a mother who loves you more than anything." 

Like a lot of sons, I'd heard most of these things from my mother before. But this time, her words really impacted me. I really needed to hear that (especially that night). In fact, I started to tear up.

She noticed and rubbed my hand with her index finger, offering a soft smile at the same time.

We fell silent again for a few moments before she started up again, "I know it's difficult to be your age, going through changes and looking for someone to have a relationship with. It's confusing, complicated, and a rollercoaster of emotions. I've been there too, sweetheart. It's been so tough with your father gone, that I almost feel that way again myself sometimes." 

I started to begin to see where the conversation was headed next, and I hoped we simply wouldn't talk about it. I guess that was pretty naive of me considering the gravity of what I'd done.

Mom continued, "What I'm trying to say is that I understand how you feel. I get lonely, too. I go through those same complicated feelings that you do. But despite how difficult it can be when things aren't working in our favor, it's up to us to navigate those feelings in healthy and responsible ways."

I nodded again, growing more worried about the inevitable bombshell still to come. 

"But Bradley, having those photos of me... it's not healthy or responsible."

Yup... I knew it.

She was completely within reason and was being incredibly forgiving about something most people probably wouldn't be forgiven for, but that still didn't stop me from having a childish reaction.

I quickly looked away and recoiled my hand.

She put her hands on her lap and looked at me, still remaining calm and collected.

"I told you... I didn't put them on there. I didn't even see them," I spouted.

I still really needed to learn when to know when I'd lost.

Despite my pathetic –and probably infuriating –performance, Mom didn't lose composure.

"Your father doesn't use that laptop. I don't use that laptop. You're the only one who uses that laptop," she spelled it out for me. 

I continued to look away and use my right to remain silent, no matter how infantile and futile it was.

She sighed again, this time in a more saddened way, "Sweetie, I'm not angry with you. I promise you I'm not. But I need you to be honest with me, okay? How did you get those pictures?"

I still refused to speak. I knew it was over. I knew I'd been caught red-handed with an entire filing cabinet of evidence to put me away for life...but I still couldn't bring myself to give up the act. 

But as we sat there under the deafening, crushing weight of silence with my mother's olive branch quickly about to be ripped from my reach, I realized that this was most likely my only opportunity to salvage any type of relationship with her, my family, or anyone. I had to come clean. It was the only option left that didn't end in disaster.

"I... I found them on your phone." It felt like a stake going through my heart when the words left my lips. However, I also felt a surprising amount of relief. Like I was no longer the sole bearer of such a massive secret.

Mom looked at me and nodded slowly. Her expression didn't change from before my confession, with her demeanor still reflecting the same level of understanding and patience she'd gracefully offered the entire time.

She asked her next question, "Did you stumble across them? Or did you go looking for them?"

Now the answer to that question was significantly more telling than the first one she'd posed. One answer was a lie she'd instantly see through, and the other was an admission to the fact that I'd fantasized about fucking her for the past year. 

I felt stumped again; the pause between question and answer much longer than the first. Luckily for me, that was probably the only question I had actually prepared for when I rehearsed this conversation earlier. My answer wasn't completely true, but it maybe had just enough truth to it that she'd accept it at face value without prying further.

"I went looking."

Mom seemed slightly surprised or taken aback by this revelation. I think she knew it was a possibility, but ultimately believed this whole thing was a bit less intentional and more of an accident (if that was even possible).

She replied with one drawn-out word, "...Why?"

Her reaction was making me feel more worried about how this was going, but I no longer had any choice. 

"I um... I got caught up..." I finally replied.

She tilted her head slightly and raised an eyebrow, "What... what do you mean, Bradley?"

I looked back at her, not quite in the eyes, "Caught up in a fantasy."

She nodded once again and gave me a look that told me she wanted further elaboration.

And so I did, "I watched a lot of... "stuff" online with older women. It was just a fetish for a while, but then I took it too far. I was just curious is all. I lost myself in the fantasy of older women, and I just went looking somewhere familiar."

This information hit my mother in a few ways and made her feel different things, none of which I understood at the time safe for the puzzled look on her face. 

I sat there against my headboard and waited patiently for a response. For the time being, I'd revealed everything I felt necessary to get me out of that mess. All I could do was hope she accepted my answer and forgive me for violating her privacy. I wasn't just trying to get out of it, but at that point I wanted things to get back to normal without her knowing the true depth of my transgressions.

I could tell she was trying to process everything, but I couldn't tell where her head was at. Ultimately, I think she felt exposed in a way she hadn't before, not with me. She saw the photos I had, so she knew what I'd seen. And I saw nearly every inch of her body.

I was getting pretty nervous about her lack of response, but then after an extended period of silence, she asked a question I hadn't prepared for, "But...why did you copy them? Save them on your laptop?"

There wasn't an answer to that question that didn't scream "because I want to have hot sex with you," so I began to panic. The panic was internal at first, but became external before too long. I was a trapped animal with no way out.

"I... I don't know, Mom! Okay? I'm not sure why I did it. I just know that I'm really, really sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you, and I didn't mean for things to go that far!" I blurted out, less than conscious about my sleeping siblings on either side of my bedroom.

"Please forgive me, Mom. I know you'll probably never trust me again, but please forgive me!"

In my fit of desperate pleading, I hadn't noticed that I'd been making solid eye-contact with my mom the entire time. My attempt to race to the end of this confrontation while attempting to conceal my true feelings only ended up being more revealing than anything. My eyes and my tone said it all, and she understood everything clearly.

The room fell back into the same uncomfortable silence that it kept reverting back to every time one of us finished asking or answering. We sat on my bed in the dimly lit room, purposefully looking away from one another, hoping to find an answer to this dilemma up on the ceiling fan or underneath the dresser. At the same time, however, it felt like there was a newly developed unspoken understanding that had formed between us— a sense of knowing that wasn't present moments earlier. 

After the most pregnant of pauses, the sheets shifted as Mom scooted a bit closer to me. She put her hand on mine and looked at me directly once more. Then, she smiled.

"I forgive you, sweetheart."

For what seemed like an addition to a recurring pattern that evening/morning, I had to double-check that I heard correctly. 

Did she just say... she forgave me? 

"You... you do?" I asked.

She squeezed my fingers softly and nodded, "Yes. Of course I do."

That was the most beautiful music to my ears. I smiled back at her with genuine disbelief, having thought there was no way she'd ever look at me the same way after all of that. Up until that moment, I had never felt anything so good in my life. Well, at least not yet.

She extended her arms outward to me for a hug, which I gladly and gracefully accepted. We wrapped our arms around each other tightly and embraced. Somehow, we felt even closer than ever before. I felt liberated.

"Thank you, Mom. I'm so grateful to have you. I love you." I gushed, still in disbelief that things had turned out that way.

She echoed the same sentiments back to me, "I love you too, baby. Nothing could ever change that. Nothing."

I couldn't say how long for sure, but that hug felt like one of the longest we'd ever had. It was also one of the strongest. In that moment, I was eternally grateful. 

If this was a more ordinary story, then this would have been the perfect place to end it. The conflict was resolved, hearts were mended, and everyone lived happily ever after. But as you already know, this isn't that kind of story. This story has a much, much different outcome, and this isn't even close to the ending. As I was seconds away from finding out for the first time, the entire trajectory of your life can change in a matter of seconds, from one decision.

Despite our happy reconciliation, I was still a little concerned about self-preservation when it came to others finding out about my theft of the nude photos, which prompted me to ask my next question:

"Mom, um, you won't tell anybody about this, will you? This can stay just between us?" 

Our embrace came to an end and Mom put her hands on her lap, still sitting on the edge of my bed next to me. 

She looked at me with the corner of her lip bending upwards slightly, almost like a subtle grin. "Depends..." she said. Every time she spoke, I was on the edge of my seat. "... are you going to tell anyone?" 

I didn't really understand why she turned the question back around on me. Why would I tell anyone about this life-ruining, embarrassing story? There was a pause as I tried to make sense of the question. There still seemed to be some sort of lingering tension between us.

"What do you mean, Mom?" I asked.

She looked down and played with a corner of her bathrobe, twiddling the black fabric with her fingers.

"I mean that we have to keep this between us, Bradley. Nobody else can ever find out, okay?" 

I was still somewhat confused, it feeling like we were talking about two separate things, but I still agreed nonetheless.

"Yeah, Mom. I'll never say anything. Promise."

Turns out, I was right about us talking about two different things. Because I was talking about what just happened, whereas she was talking about... what was about to happen. 

"That's good, baby. Neither will I," she replied with a somewhat nervous looking smile.

I didn't quite get what she'd have to feel nervous about. If there was anyone who should've been nervous, it was me. But before I could begin to figure it out, I was made to understand.

Right there on the edge of my bed, Mom grabbed each fold of her robe and slowly pulled it open, openly and intentionally revealing her bare breasts to me.

Have you ever felt your brain's processing fall behind the things your eyes see? Like, you know what you're looking at, but your head hasn't ascribed any meaning or understanding to it yet? Well, regardless, that's what was happening to me in that moment.

They fell free into the light from the lamp, her white fur and pink nipples on full display. Mom looked at me, waiting for my reaction. She had a subtle smile and was seemingly amused by my bewilderment.

She pulled back her robe a bit more just to ensure I could see them okay. 

As my mind began to finally decipher the images it was receiving, little to my knowledge, my mouth had fallen agape and my eyes had widened to their limit. My mom had just flashed me. On purpose.

She spoke softly, a bit worried she'd broken me, "What do you think, honey?" 

I knew she'd asked me a question, but the contents of such question eluded me. Just like when I found her photos, my senses were reduced to their base level of functionality. My heart raced and my ears rang. Sights and sounds became only those, with no meaning attached. It was like some alternate version of shell shock, but deeply rooted in sexual impulses.

After a few moments of staring at my mom's tits in a primitive state, my devices slowly began to return to me; enough to where I was (kind of) able to speak.

"Mom... w-what... why..." was all I could manage so far.

She took my hand once again, realizing maybe that she'd been a bit too forward.

"I know, baby. I understand how you feel," she started.

The words were making a bit more sense now, but the input was still delayed.

"I know why you looked at my photos... you're lonely, baby."

She didn't seem to mind me staring directly at her boobs while she talked, but I still was listening.

"I'm lonely too. With your father... not being here much, it's really hard not having anyone to share my love with like that. It's like a whole part of me doesn't get to exist."

I looked up at her, trying to pay more attention to her words rather than her body.

"I guess I'm just saying... I know how hard that can be, honey. So, if you're up for it... I was thinking... maybe we don't have to be lonely anymore. If you want to... we can share our love with each other. For now, at least."

Even though I was understanding the words she said, I wasn't having any easier of a time actually believing them. Was my own mother, the woman I'd fantasized about incessantly for the past year, actually proposing what I thought she was?

My heart was pounding and my breathing was becoming rapid. I once again was struggling to formulate a response, as I wasn't even fully certain if any of this was real. Mom continued to look at me hoping for a response. Her robe was still open, which was one of, if not the biggest, reason I couldn't focus.

Nervous about my answer to her proposal, she decided to hedge her statement, "If you're not comfortable with this... I don't know. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. Let's forget-"

She began to close up the top of her robe, quickly changing her mind about what was happening... right before I finally built up the courage to speak my mind.

I put my hand on her thigh, more inner than outer, and slid it partially under her robe.

"I want you, Mom," I declared, louder and more desperately than I intended.

Her eyes widened, and she stopped covering herself up. She seemed taken aback.

I looked at her breasts again, as it was pretty hard to keep my eyes off them. I realized what I'd just said may have been a little too forward, so I corrected myself, "I want to try this with you, I mean. If you wanted to...."

She tried to hide a smile before looking away and blushing. With how things seemed to be going, I began to stiffen underneath the covers, regardless of how hopelessly nervous I was.

Mom put her hand on top of mine, the one on her thigh, and looked at me with a rather serious tone, "If we do this, Bradley...."

I matched her gaze, my heart rate increasing at a dangerous rate.

"...there's no undoing it. Our relationship will never be the same. And nobody... nobody can ever know. Are you sure you're okay with that?"

Even though she had posed that question to me, I could tell she was still pondering the answer herself. There was no question that what we were considering would permanently be crossing a line, but there was also no question that both our hearts and our bodies were begging us to cross it. 

I looked around my room at various things. A small part of me was actually thinking about her question, while the larger part of me was simply acting like I was. In all honesty, my mind was made up when she opened her robe. And going even further back, it was made up when I saw her in that navy blue bikini.

I nodded, now beginning to tremble from nerves, "I'm sure."

You're probably not gonna be too happy with me about this, but this next part is a bit fuzzy in my memory. I know, I know, this is the moment you've been waiting for. Don't worry, I remember most of it. But you have to understand, something like this heightens your senses to an overwhelming level. The way my body reacted to seeing her photos and her boobs for the first time was nothing compared to this. Not to mention I was sleep deprived, besides. Plus, a lot has happened since. Like, A LOT. But I'm going to do my best, because this is perhaps the most crucial part of our story, the part where we absolutely shattered Pandora's box. So here goes....

After we both verbally agreed to go through with it, we sat there for a few moments in awkward silence. It seemed like she was expecting me to make the first move, but I was a virgin whose only knowledge about sex came from porn. 

"I... I don't know what to do," I admitted lamely.

Surprisingly, my inexperience seemed to calm her nerves a bit, as she then realized she'd be taking the lead, something I didn't realize at the time, was her specialty.

After that is where things become a bit of a blur. I remember key moments, but the time in between and how they happened elude me.

"Usually, you start with a kiss..." she instructed sensually. 

I remember Mom slowly closing the gap between us and gently pushing her muzzle up against my mouth. It was the first time since I was a kid that she'd kissed me anywhere besides my cheek, and it was much different than before. She sucked my lips, slipping her tongue in and out of my mouth. Her breath was hot and smelled of mint toothpaste. This was my first real kiss, so I did my best to keep up despite having no technique. I tried to mimic her lip and tongue movements to mild success, but honestly, neither one of us seemed to mind.

I remember after we stopped kissing, we both blushed and giggled. Neither one of us seemed to be put off by it in any way. It was definitely different, but it was exhilarating at the same time. And frankly, it was fucking hot. So hot, that I hadn't realized my boner was now portruding through the sheets. 

Mom noticed almost immediately after she broke our kiss. She put her hand over her mouth, seemingly flattered, "Oh my... baby...." 

I tried to conceal my arousal, "S-sorry, I didn't mean to–"

She smiled and took my hand, "Don't be. I feel the same way...." 

After that, I remember her taking my hand and sliding it under her robe. My fingers glided through her trimmed fur. She guided me down between her thighs. It was at that point that I realized my mother wasn't wearing any panties... she hadn't been the whole time.

Then, that's when I felt it. It was soft and warm, and not fuzzy like the rest of her nethers. It was slightly sticky, and quite moist. Mom had guided my hand... to her vagina.

I nearly fainted and began to tremble more intensely than before. I had my hand in my mother's crotch, exploring freely to my heart's content. As amazing as that moment was, it was also pretty overwhelming to be honest. 

I don't know for certain, but I think she asked me if I was okay, to which I must have responded yes because our encounter definitely didn't end there. She then encouraged me to rub her, which I obeyed nervously whilst trying to keep my head on straight. I rubbed my hand up and down, prodding and stroking the various parts of Mom's pussy. The texture of it was as heavenly as I'd imagined— so soft and velvety. This was still under her robe, mind you, so with my limited pornographic knowledge and the inability to see what I was doing, I was simply winging it by trying to stimulate every part of her. Flying blind, as they say.

And apparently, I was doing a half decent job, because that was the first time I'd heard my mother moan. It was more of a reserved, understated exhale, but the more I touched her, the more she did it. And hearing her make those sounds in response to my actions... cranked my arousal up twentyfold. I was hard and throbbing under the covers, but I didn't care or even barely noticed; pleasuring Mom felt so good that I wasn't even thinking about myself. 

But she was definitely thinking of me, like the supportive, caring mother she always was, because I recall her asking at some point around that time, "Can I touch you, honey?"

No clue how I responded, but it doesn't matter, because shortly thereafter, my dick was out from under the sheets with Mom's hand wrapped around it. I think I'd stopped touching her at that point, because the attention I was receiving required my full attention. She didn't mind. In fact, she seemed to want to focus solely on me. 

"You're so hard for me, baby..." she whispered, slowly stroking me up and down. On every downward motion, she made my throbbing tip pop free from my foreskin, before sliding upwards and covering it up again. I remember the way she looked at my cock while she did this; she was almost hypnotized by it. Captivated at the very least. It felt so good, not just in general, but to have her doing it. Her hand was soft, and she knew precisely how to use it. How Dad could give up even a handjob from her was beyond me, but he was the last thing on my mind that night. My dreams were coming true, and I couldn't have been more grateful for it.

I don't know long precisely, but I'm pretty sure that was the first erection a man had had for her in quite some time. She seemed to possess a powerful mix of gratitude and flattery towards me as she stroked my length. She didn't say it at the time, but she felt incredibly vindicated to have a man give her that kind of attention once again, even if it was from her own son. It made her feel wanted, desired again. It also made her want more. More than just some hot handplay and kissing. 

I wanted more as well. I wanted the thing I'd fantasized about for over a year. I wanted what was now finally within my reach.

I believe I was the first to confess, by asking, "Mom... do you think we could–"

But she already knew what I was gonna ask before I could spit it out, and as it so happened, she was thinking the exact same thing. She replied enthusiastically, "Yes, baby. Absolutely we can."

My entire life, Mom had pretty much always taken the straight and narrow. She maybe ran a stop sign here and there or stayed up unreasonably late bingeing a captivating TV series, but for the most part, I had never seen her do something immoral or wrong intentionally. The fact that she was willing to do something like this with me was completely unfathomable at least, and absolutely exhilarating at best. It didn't feel real in the slightest.

The next thing I remember is Mom getting up off the bed, undoing her robe's belt, and letting it drop to the floor. She didn't tease or take her time, but instead took it off as if she was in a hurry. And before I could even process it, there stood my mother: stark naked, baring all for me to see. 

If I could've gotten any harder than what I already was, that would've been the time it happened. Her body was immaculate.

It didn't matter that I'd already seen it in photos, because seeing it in real time was more magnificent than even the highest quality of camera could've captured. 

I don't remember what the look on my face was the first time I saw her naked. My jaw was probably dropped with my tongue hanging out of my head, drooling while I masturbated at the same time. But I do remember how I responded to her next question, because it was said response that officially sealed the deal.

"So..." she began. She had her hand on her hip and a reserved smile on her face. 

"...how do I compare? To the photos?"

I ogled my own mother's naked body, scanning her up and down with my eyes. 

With probably less charisma than I thought, I replied, "The photos have nothing on the real thing. Not a single one of them."

Everything after that has been reduced to a series of snapshots in my mind, accompanied by various senses. In between those is just blank space. Memories buried so deep that I still can't access them to this day. Maybe my subconscious saw this moment in my life as traumatic or an event that I needed to be protected from; I'm not sure why it's so hard to remember. But as much as I wish I could recall the next part with more clarity (like I have been for the past while), I'll relay the details that I managed to retain.

Before my brain could even process what was happening, Mom was on top of me.

I remember the feeling of her laying the entirety of her weight on me. She was heavy, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Her fur was warm and soft against my bare skin, just as her breasts were against my chest. I'd always loved her fur, but I remember how much more exhilarating it felt to have no barrier between us, to feel it all over me. I remember how hard she pushed herself up against me and how tight she wrapped her arms around my body. 

It was all... not what I expected. It was amazing, of course, better than I imagined, actually. Maybe it was from all the porn I'd watched where they'd just gone straight to the sex ninety percent of the time. But with Mom, there was so much more passion to it. 

I remember the feeling of her muzzle on my neck, her warm tongue lapping away, and the gentle suction of her lips. It was a pleasure I didn't even know I needed until that moment. I would've done the same to her regardless of her fur, but she was very much taking the lead, and I wasn't in any position to argue. Frankly, I was lucky she was in charge considering I had no technique or moves of my own yet. It was almost as if she was teaching me at the same time, even though I was in no state of mind to be taking notes. 

The next thing I remember was when she lowered her crotch to meet mine. I was shaking from both nerves and excitement, knowing what came next. She grinded her entrance against my erection. The heat coming off of her was greater than before, as was her wetness. I remember how I moaned when she did that, and how that alone almost made me cum. I don't know how I didn't. Maybe it was simply out of my primal need to feel her. To feel what it was like inside. After how long I fantasized about this moment, perhaps my body refused to let me fail.

Thankfully, she didn't grind me long. Because I don't remember there being much time between the initial contact of our genitals and... the next part.

"Ah, are you ready for me, honey?"

Quite honestly, I wasn't. I wasn't remotely physically or mentally prepared for the effect that our following actions had on me. But it didn't matter. Because even if we'd stopped there, we had already crossed the line. The kissing, the touching, the grinding... there was no coming back from any of that. There would be no undoing or erasure of any single one of those things that could be achieved by not going all the way. We'd already overcome the small voices in our heads telling us not to, and neither one of us was willing to go back. 

So we pushed forward.

I nodded in response to her question. I couldn’t have spoken if I even wanted to. Then, with nothing left to say or do, Mom slowly, sensually...took me inside of her.

That feeling... you bet I remember that feeling.

A jolt of electricity rushed through my entire body. It was like I'd been struck by lightning, only there was no pain or any form of discomfort. It was some sort of potent mix of pleasure, disbelief, euphoria, guilt, desire, and fear, all wrapped into a single moment, a single sensation.

We both moaned when it happened, loud enough that if it wasn't so late at night, any waking ears would've definitely heard us. 

"Oh, baby..." she said.

"Oh, Mom..." I echoed.

Our tones were identical, our voices filled with uncertainty. Yet, at the same time, we'd never been more certain. We were in unspoken agreement... it already felt fantastic.

She rested her forehead against mine and looked deep into my eyes, her purple meeting my brown in a way they never had before. While I didn't know it at the time, that look she gave me was one I would soon become more and more accustomed to. A look of intimacy that, for many years, had been reserved for my father. A look that suggested I was no longer just her son, but more than that.

Even though we hadn't actually done more than the initial penetration yet, both of us were nearly hyperventilating as if we'd just run a marathon together. The taboo nature of this new connection was incredibly intense and overwhelming; not to mention how it felt just physically as well.

Mom's pussy was so... fucking... warm. Wet, too. 

It was surprisingly tight for having given birth three times, and her walls hugged my dick tight and snug. 

I don't recall how long we stayed still like that, but I'll never forget how heavenly it felt once she started moving. Taking my dick with her, she lifted her bottom up, before pushing it back down. She repeated it again, and again, and again. Slowly, mind you, but speed didn't matter in the slightest to me in the moment. Frankly, any faster would've ended things embarrassingly fast. 

Subconsciously, it was all I could think about, but in the moment, the realization only came to me in spurts— the realization that I was having sex. My mother came into my room in the middle of the night, stripped down, gave me a handjob, and was now... riding my cock. Like I said, subconsciously it made sense. I knew exactly how it got to that point, but right there, in the moment, I couldn’t piece together how any of it was happening. That didn't make it any less incredible.

However, that being said, that's just about all I remember from that night. I remember not really knowing where to look while we did it. I think I mainly looked at her belly-ish area most of the encounter. It felt wrong to look in her eyes, and even though I'd crossed that line a long time ago, it still felt wrong to look at her naked parts as well (despite the fact that she was actively fucking me). It was all so new for the both of us that there wasn't really a precedent for how it was supposed to work. Even for someone as experienced as her, she seemed out of practice when it came to me. I mean, there's not exactly a guidebook to screwing your mom, or your son, for that matter.

Even though the awkwardness was difficult to navigate, all of that still didn't stop me from stealing the occasional glance at her tits in my face or down at her pussy that easily consumed all of my six inches. At this point, I wasn't certain if this would be a "one and done" sort of deal or not, so I tried to get as full of an experience as I could despite my inexperience and heightened level of anxiety.

I wish I could tell you that I rocked her world. I wish I could say that I made her orgasm multiple times and that I filled her up with cum while she moaned my name. But obviously, that wasn't the case. It's not for most people having sex for the first time. I don't know how long she rode me for, but I don't think I lasted for more than a few minutes. Five tops, but I think that's probably generous. I must've warned her, because I remember her dismounting me just in time before I finished all over my stomach, and I don't think she even got hers. 

Don't get me wrong, it was still really hot. The fact that it was so taboo already dialed up our arousal to eleven. I wasn't her first, but she was mine. And despite her years of sexual experience, she didn't seem to enjoy herself any less than I had. I was thrilled to have lost my virginity, while Mom simply relished being pleasured again. While it may have been short, amateur, and extremely vanilla, we both loved every second of it nonetheless. I know for me, it was the best orgasm I'd ever had. 

For the duration of the sex and afterwards, Mom and I hadn't spoken a single word to each other. Our communication had been through gentle moans, exasperated exhales, and facial expressions. After we finished, we sat there on my bed for a few minutes in the same position we'd just fucked in. Naked and reeling, I think we were both mentally trying to come to terms with what had just transpired. I couldn’t tell what she was feeling, but now that my head had cleared up a bit, I was feeling a bit uncomfortable. I didn't feel regretful, but unsure. The lust began to dissipate, and the "what-ifs" began to creep in. 

Before I could begin to unpack or express those feelings, Mom gave me a smile. It was the same one she'd given me when I fell off my bike when I was seven, or when I got a C– on the math test I'd studied so hard for in the sixth grade. It was reassurance. Reassurance that everything would be okay. She leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on my forehead before slowly getting up off the bed. She handed me a few tissues to wipe the cum off my belly.

I couldn't help but watch her nude figure like a hawk as she moved about, collecting her robe off the ground. The feeling I got from seeing her bare bottom bent over was almost enough to dispel any senses of doubt I was experiencing. I watched her gracefully and quietly put it back on, closing both sides of it and tightly tying it up.

Mom then turned towards the door and made her way towards it. Just before she twisted the knob, she looked back at me over her shoulder, "Goodnight, baby."

I sat with my back against the headboard, still in the same position, "Goodnight, Mom."

She opened the door, and exited my room.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, concludes the story of how all of this began. Not sure if that's what you were expecting or if that's what you wanted to hear, but for me, it's just what happened. 

And A LOT has happened since then. Maybe I'll delve into some of those things a bit more sometime. But until then, there it is. An honest, unapologetic, and uncensored recounting of the moment—and the years leading up to it— that changed my life forever.