33 comments/ 281139 views/ 121 favorites Jake's Progress By: GeorgieH I awoke from the dream with a gasp, sunlight and consciousness flooding through my brain, scattering the fragments of my sleep-world and leaving me dizzy with shock. As my rational brain came haltingly online, I grasped for those fast-dispersing remnants of the dream like a shipwrecked sailor desperately trying to gain purchase on the flotsam that surrounds him in the ocean. Quite why I was so keen to hold on to whatever scraps I could recall only became apparent when the first rational thoughts made themselves known, and I realised that I had awoken with a deep sense of unease running through me. The unease quickly transformed into something altogether more strange when a second realisation made me aware of the fact that I was also more than a tad....well... horny. This wasn't such a rare occurrence. So, I'm a thirty-five year-old woman (happily divorced), but I often wake with a feeling of heat nestled deep in my belly. Most mornings when that happens I enjoy the sensation, and, yes, may even explore it a little, if you know what I mean. This particular Friday morning, though, there was something different buried within the low-grade excitement that my body was experiencing. For a start, there was nothing particularly low-grade about it -- I was wet down there and I could feel a high-colour on my cheeks. Then there was that lingering sense of unease. Whatever had brought me to such an excited state had also, in some strange dream way, unnerved me. Try as I might to stop them, the details of the dream were heading over the hills and far away. All I could capture were more general sensations -- something to do with someone I knew who had surprised me, and something about me as well, maybe along the lines of me reacting to something in a totally unexpected way... It was a mystery and, I knew now, would remain one. At about that point I also realised what is was that had woken me. I checked the sunlit face of my alarm clock and nodded. Jake, my son, had left the house a couple of minutes earlier and had, no doubt, slammed the front door. I sighed, wondering whether to be grateful to him for pulling me out of the unsettling dream, or annoyed that he hadn't let the dream-me continue to whatever conclusion the dream had in store for her. The realisation that Jake had left, however, had one distinct benefit. Knowing that he would now be out all day at his summer job -- taken in order to add to the funds he would need when he left for university at the end of the summer -- I had total privacy inside our little house. With a slightly desperate sigh, I threw back the thin sheet that covered me, lay back against my pillows, closed my eyes... and allowed my fingers to explore the wetness left behind by the dream. Life had become a comfortable routine at our house since my ex had left three years earlier. In the peace that followed his departure, Jake had been given the ideal conditions for studying and his grades rose from somewhere south of average to the dizzying heights north of straight-As. In other words, he was finally achieving the sort of results his expensive, all-boys private school expected from their pupils. The sudden absence of his loud-mouthed father had seemingly done little, however, to shake off Jake's inherent shyness, and I had begun to worry that he would find university life intimidating. When he had announced that he was going to work through the summer on, of all things, a building site I was both shocked and delighted. Given his bookish ways, I was also a tad worried that his levels of physical fitness might not be up to the requirements of such a labour-intensive job. Certainly, the first few days were something of a struggle for him, but after a week or so he began to find things easier and had even taken to socialising after hours with some of his workmates. It's safe to say that I was delighted at thus turn of events -- and especially so since I had the house to myself for even longer than I was already used to. Given that I work for myself, from home, the extra two or three hours of peace let me catch up with a backlog of work that had developed during the spring. That Friday, though, I found concentration rather difficult. Even though the mid-summer sun was blazing down and the birds were twittering happily outside my little home-office, my mind kept replaying the few fragments of dream that had survived consciousness. I tried to switch tasks -- from preparing a series of magazine articles on child-care for the elderly (don't ask) to a review of recent fashion trends -- I just simply couldn't settle to anything. I knew that Jake wouldn't be home until at least nine or ten that evening -- Fridays seemed to be a particular favourite for joining his colleagues for a few drinks -- and I decided that I would take the opportunity to pamper myself and maybe return to my work later in the evening. I took a leisurely bath, washed my unruly mess of long, dark hair, exfoliated, applied a face pack, exfoliated again, moisturised, gave myself a pedicure... you get the picture, and then made myself a light supper and opened a bottle of well-chilled Chablis as an accompaniment. Just before eight, I flopped down in front of the TV and channel hopped until I cam across an ideal programme -- or at least, an ideal programme insofar as it would temper my guilt at having done so little work during the day. The programme was focusing on the work of a couple of fashion designers and I reasoned that I could justifiably call an hour or so watching fashion shows well-intentioned research. I pulled my skirt straight, hitched the shoulder straps of my little t-shirt fully onto my shoulders and grabbed a notebook and pen -- and the wine bottle. To my surprise, the front door opened a few minutes later and Jake's head appeared in the doorway. "Hi, ma!" "Hi, you. Early tonight?" Jake shrugged, "Our normal bar was closed and some of the guys were heading off on some fishing trip or something anyway, so I decided to have an early night. I'm pretty well knackered anyway." "Fair enough. If you haven't eaten yet there's loads in the fridge, and I put a couple of cans of beer in there as well." "I'm truly honoured, thank you." I couldn't help but smile at his grin, "I do hope that isn't sarcasm?" "Never!" "Oh, go take a shower or something and stop tormenting your poor mother. I need to watch this." I pointed at the television. "Quite apart from trying not to take offence at your suggestion that I'm in desperate need of a shower, do you promise to change channels when I've finished cleaning up and eating?" "That depends on how long you take. As it is, I've got lots of work to catch up on and this is research -- so don't hurry!" Jake squinted at the screen, "Er... no, I guess I won't." He wandered upstairs with a few disparaging words about un-wearable clothes trailing in his wake. I turned my attention back to the programme and couldn't help but agree with my son to some extent. The vast majority of the outfits being worn by the models were completely outlandish and totally impractical. For the next ten minutes I was subjected to a parade of near-naked models who would be arrested were they to wear their outfits out on the street. To make matters worse, so many of the girls looked unhealthily thin. I'm kinda petite, but my thirty-two inch bust actually looks well-proportioned on my tiny frame. You would certainly never mistake me for a guy if you ever got to see me topless, but the same couldn't be said of some of the so-called supermodels. Even as I watched, I started to make notes for another series of articles about the cruelties of fashion. I became so engrossed with this new topic that I was surprised when Jake flopped down beside me on the sofa. "That was quick." "Hardly, ma," Jake paused to sip beer from a newly-opened can, "I've showered, changed -- just in case you hadn't noticed -- and had a few chicken wings while you've been scribbling away for the last half hour." "Is it really that long? And yes, I did noticed you'd showered and changed -- I can put the gas mask away now." He was wearing white tennis shorts and a strappy t-shirt that was very similar to mine. Jake prodded me in the ribs, "Not nice, mother of mine. And anyway, I thought we'd agreed to change the channel when I was through with my ablutions." I prodded him back and snorted, "No, we didn't -- you suggested it, and I told you that it depended on how long you were. As it is there's only ten minutes left of the programme, so I'm sure you can wait it out." "I... um, don't really think I could." I glanced at the screen to see yet more models in see-through tops. I gave a laugh, "Surely my little boy is not getting embarrassed at the sight of a few scantily clad women?" "No!" he replied, a little too quickly, "It's just.. you know? Dull?" I was about to say something along the lines of eighteen year-old males normally being impossible to drag away from such a spectacle when I noticed the high colour in his cheeks and a slightly frantic look in his eyes. Without warning a flash of the dream-unease passed through me, accompanied by another sensation -- one I couldn't place for the moment. I decided to change tack. "How about you open another bottle for me instead?" "I guess I could," Jake managed, "But I'd rather just change channels." "Well you can't," I told him, "I have the remote control and for the next seven minutes, it stays in my power. Now, either open some more wine for me, or sit back and enjoy the boobs." "Ma!" "Oh, come on, Jake. I know you're heterosexual, so why not just enjoy the view and think of it is a guilt-free soft porn session?" "Jeez, ma!" I wasn't sure why I had said such a thing myself, but a tiny little part of me was revelling in Jake's discomfort -- even though I became suddenly aware that the situation that was developing held heavy overtones of the previous night's dream. "If you promise to be quiet a let me watch the rest of this in peace, I promise I will never wear anything remotely that revealing, how about that?" "For f... I mean... jeez, ma!" I let out a laugh, "Don't tell me that I'm embarrassing you that much?" Jake turned his flushed face in my direction, "I'm not... well, maybe I am but anyway..." he flapped his hands and flopped back on the cushions. "Decided to watch after all?" "No!" "Yeah, yeah..." "Ma, I haven't... and I can prove it!" Before I could react, Jake lunged across me, scrabbling for the remote control. I grabbed it, giggling, and curled myself around it, drawing my legs onto the sofa. "Oh no you don't!" "Ma! Give it to me!" "Shan't!" I giggled again. "Then you leave me no choice!" With that I felt Jake's fingers digging into my ribs, tickling me for all he was worth. I've been ticklish -- terribly, horribly ticklish -- ever since I was a little girl, and Jake's ministrations had me shrieking with laughter. But I've also been extremely determined. "Stop it!" I managed between yelps. "Only if you give me the remote." "Never!" Jake began to tickle more of my sides and his right hand moved perilously close to a spot I have a few inches below my left armpit which, if tickled, drives me totally nuts. I squealed, giggles and wriggled for all I was worth, all the while desperately clinging to the remote. This was now a matter of principle -- and, I realised with a start, a matter of ignoring the growing sense of déjà vu that must have originated in my weird dream. In the few weeks that Jake had been working on the building site his physique had developed rapidly, and with it had, apparently, come considerable strength. I soon realised that Jake could lift most of my bodyweight one-handed and all the techniques that I had used when we used to play wrestle when he was ten or eleven were no longer going to be enough for me to emerge victorious. But I was damned if I was going to admit defeat that easily. Even through my giggles and my increasingly desperate attempts to hold on to the remote, I still managed to pretend I was winning the battle. "Is that the best you can do?" Jake's face was set in a determined grin and at those words, he flipped me onto my back before resuming the relentless tickling. "Just admit you're beaten, ma!" "No way!" As another wave of laughter shrieked its way out of my throat, a tiny little alarm bell rang deep within my brain. When Jake had flipped me over, my skirt had ridden high -- very high -- on my thighs, and I remembered at the same moment that I was wearing absolutely nothing under the little strappy t-shirt. These realisations were immediately followed by a stronger wave of that strange unease that I had felt on and off all day -- and to my shock, I realised that I was also beginning to feel the merest, faintest, tiniest traces of the other sensation I had awoken with. When Jake tried to press home his advantage his lower body pressed up against the side of my thigh and my heart leapt into my throat. My boy -- my wonderful, loving, little boy -- had an erection. Before my mind could even begin to grasp what this meant, or how this was possible, those tiny traces of the excitement I had felt upon waking blossomed deep inside me. Without any possibility of control, I felt myself grow hot and.... and damp. My shocked, automatic reaction was to wriggle back over onto my belly -- hiding my face in case my son could read the tumultuous thoughts that careened around my brain. As I frantically tried to take stock of the situation I became aware that my skirt had ridden up even further -- that it was now, in fact, barely covering the cheeks of my butt. For a second or two I thought this would be enough to galvanise me into stopping the wrestling bout, of calling a halt to everything -- but my body turned traitor. The heat in my belly and groin grew hotter and with a sense of fascinated, scared excitement, I felt the wetness between my legs increase. As I lay there, squirming this way and that, I became aware that Jake was trying to push me over onto my back once again -- and equally aware that he had one hand on the top of my right leg in order to achieve this feat. His little finger was touching my bare flesh and even in my overwhelmed state I realised that my skirt must now be pushed up enough to reveal the skimpy panties I wore beneath it. As I tried to work out just what the hell was going on, his other hand pushed underneath me, the base of his thumb sliding across the underside of my breasts. I gasped, mind and body freezing for a few seconds. Above me, Jake's movements had taken on a frantic edge. I could feel the tremors that raced through his muscles and despite what my mind was trying to deny, I couldn't help but simply know that the impromptu wrestling bout was exciting my son in a very sexual way. As if to prove the point to me, his next movement, trying to lever me over, brought his hips into contact with my side. Or more to the point, the rigid bulge in his shorts. The unfamiliar pressure served to free my mind from its temporary suspension, jolting me into full awareness -- an awareness that included the realisation that the left strap of my t-shirt had been shifted off my shoulder and below my biceps. If Jake managed to turn me over again now, there was a very real possibility that my left breast would be half-exposed -- or worse. Just as this realisation dawned, I felt another wave of the dream-unease. It was all too much, too fast and my sanity-preservation system kicked in. With a cry of "Ok! You win!" I pushed the remote control -- which I had still somehow held onto -- into his belly, pulled the strap of my t-shirt back into place and with my third hand (or so it seemed) yanked my skirt back down my legs. I flipped myself over and into a vaguely upright position and then pushed Jake backwards. My son stumbled and caught his balance, his face suddenly alarmed. I had been about to berate him for taking things too far, but the sight of that look -- a mixture of sorrow, regret, hurt, surprise and frustration -- held my tongue in check. Whatever it was that had just happened -- and I already planned to have a really long think about that later -- Jake was still my son, and I adored him. To see him looking in any way hurt cut straight to the maternal strings. I did what any mother would do. Okay, I did what any confused, surprised mother would do. I just pretended that nothing untoward had happened. "Okay, Jake -- you win! You're getting way too strong for me these days." "Win?" He looked perplexed for a moment before his eyes turned down to where he was holding the remote control, "Oh... oh, right, yes!" Somehow, despite the fact that we were both breathing like steam trains and were both sporting evidence of sexual excitement, we managed to turn the conversation into something vaguely resembling normal life. I told Jake that he could now watch what he wanted. Jake told me that it was okay with him whatever I watched. I pointed out that in the scuffle, the fashion programme had ended. He offered to get me another drink. I said that would be a great idea. Jake said he had to go to his room straight afterwards to read up on something. I pretended that he was going to his room to read up on something despite seeing that the bulge hadn't disappeared. Finally, I was on my own, another bottle of Chablis rapidly disappearing, and I started to try working out what had really happened. I sat there for almost two hours trying to come to a conclusion that didn't involve my son lusting after me in a very un-son-like manner, and equally trying to convince myself that the whole idea hadn't excited me in a way that I'd never felt before. By the time I eventually dragged myself off to bed -- Jake had apparently taken root in his room -- I still hadn't managed to attain either of those goals and with no other options available to me, I decided that I would try to research the whole mother-son thing the next morning. I awoke on the Saturday morning from another dizzying dream and just like the previous day I was left feeling slightly disoriented, slightly uneasy, and more than a little horny. Given that Jake would be at home this morning, I tried to resist the temptation to provide myself with a little light relief from that particular feeling, but the intensity of the sensation was just too strong. I would never be able to think straight feeling like that, so I eased myself back into the pillows and allowed my fingers to work their magic. A few minutes in to a reverie which, surprisingly, had nothing to do with the events of the night before, I was briefly interrupted by the not-so-gentle slamming of the front door. As this was followed quickly by an equally loud clatter from our front gate I was able to deduce that Jake had taken himself off for the morning. I returned to my sensual daydream with renewed ease of mind and a few minutes later allowed myself the luxury of an unrestrained howl as I climaxed hard. Suitably relieved, I took a leisurely shower and spent a few minutes choosing what I should wear. The early-morning relief had, unlike the morning before, left me feeling calm and, in an odd way, refreshed. By the time the shower was done, the events of the previous evening had taken on a quality not unlike the previous night's dream -- ephemeral and hard to grasp. At some point during the previous twelve hours my mind had decided that it was doubting itself -- maybe exaggerating the intent behind Jake's wrestling due to some lingering effect of the weird dream that had dogged me all Friday. Surely, I reasoned with myself, the simple fact of the contact between us had brought about his state of tumescence? Wasn't that perfectly normal for red-blooded males of his age? Jake's Progress I slipped on a summery skirt and plain white panties, topping these off with another strappy t-shirt. I had, after all, nothing to worry about... My calm, clear, logical thinking was troubled slightly by a soft fluttering deep within my belly as I recalled the sensation of my skirt riding so high last night and Jake's hands coming perilously close to touching areas that should have been strictly out of bounds. In fact, the more I thought about those particular aspects of the previous evening's wrestling session, the more the fluttering intensified. It reached a point where I had to admit to myself that I my body -- if not my mind -- had responded to what had happened and that, like it or not, I had felt excitement on many levels. At first I put this down to the lack of any sexual activity for almost a year (a very forgettable three weeks with an understandably single guy), but even as I tried to reason it away like that, I knew deep down that this was not the reason. After a long time debating all of the possibilities, I came to the conclusion that my reaction had either been as a result of the fact that a male -- any male -- had almost seen more of me than was seemly (I have an occasional but mostly latent exhibitionist streak), or that it was the taboo nature of any such activity that had triggered something primal within me. Nothing else seemed to fit -- and believe me I tried a dozen more explanations -- and I decided that my only recourse was some serious research. Glad that Jake was still out somewhere (and trying not to think too much of how his mind was working things through this morning) I switched on my computer and began to search for sites specialising in such matters. An hour later I was overwhelmed by the wealth of information there was available on the subject -- and not a little alarmed at just how widespread it seemed to be. The sites seemed to fall into three main categories: it's all perfectly natural and happens to quite a large percentage of young men and a lesser percentage of their mothers -- the cause being, yada yada, or, it's a cardinal sin and you will rot in hell for all of eternity, or, if we only admitted it more freely it would be far more widespread and even acceptable. Categories one and three were, of course, the most well-reasoned and, whether I liked it or not, believable. I switched my attentions to a couple of chat rooms after that to see if there was anyone else out there in the ether with the same thoughts or feelings. A simple request for opinions on a popular chat site that encouraged a more sexual band of followers brought more responses than I could possibly handle -- but those few that I did chat to were in total agreement that the mother-son thing was not only acceptable, but downright fantastic. I'm not so dumb that I didn't realise that many of the respondents were fantasy chasers and nor did I ignore the fact anyone visiting such a site was in there for any sexual thrill they could get -- but there were a couple of other mothers on there who struck me as genuine. I eventually logged out of there with a sense of shock and a strange feeling of relief. Part of me was clearly coming to terms with my reaction to Jake's actions, and another part of me was beginning to understand that it was only society's modern rules that had given such activities the bad reputation that they now had. Okay, so there were obviously limits, and I made my mind up right there and then that whatever happened in the future would go no further than maybe a brief peek at my panties or down my top, and maybe one or two 'accidental' slips of the hand -- but that was fine and innocent enough. It would help Jake overcome the frustrations of his teenage hormone rush, and if I got a few fantasies out of it for later use, where was the harm in that?. I let out a laugh when I realised what I was proposing to myself -- what, in effect, I was admitting. Another laugh followed when I realised that I was setting a lot of store in knowing what had been on Jake's mind when we had wrestled. Despite my fervid imaginings, there was a possibility that he had been acting in all innocence and that his body's reaction was nothing to do with me as such, and simply a matter of basic biology. The more I thought about that, the more relaxed I became -- and the more determined to find out one way or the other. The last thing I wanted to do was make life at home awkward for either of us, and especially not so for Jake in his last few weeks before leaving for university. By four o'clock Jake had still not made an appearance, and I was beginning to suspect that he was deliberately avoiding me -- something that could only mean that the previous evening's activities had not been completely innocent. I wasn't sure whether this supposition made finding out what was on his mind more or less difficult, but in any case I was finding it impossible to come up with some sort of plan that would make things clear for me. I had ruled out being too obvious in trying to attract his attention, and even 'accidental' flashing seemed to me to be too blatant. The last thing I wanted was for him to end up feeling a ton of guilt for how he felt about me, and nor did I want whatever had happened the previous night to come between us (so to speak). The only thing I had decided was that when he eventually came home I would be just as friendly and chatty as usual and pretend that nothing untoward had happened. It seemed like it was just as well that I was dressed in pretty much the same way as the night before, because that way he would assume that I was still relaxed enough to wear such things around him. Now all I needed was for him to come home! He eventually called me a little after eight o'clock and opened with a very tentative 'Er, hi, ma'. "Hi yourself, you little stop out. I can't begin to tell you how wonderfully peaceful the place has been for a Saturday." "It... has?" "Delightfully so. In fact if you don't get yourself home soon, I'm thinking of changing the locks." My light-hearted banter seemed to relax him at once, "You've... had a nice day then?" "Yep. I've been doing a ton of research and I'm delighted with the results," I told him, honestly, "And I've also been doing a ton of cooking, so if you're hungry I suggest you get your butt in gear and head for home." "Um, well, okay then. Now you come to mention it I am starving a bit." "Starving a bit? So much for the private education..." After a little more squabbling he rang off and I started to prepare one of his favourite suppers (not the favourite, obviously -- I didn't want him to be suspicious) -- and Jake finally showed his face half an hour later. He was as cautious at first face to face with me as he had been when he had called earlier, but by the time he was shovelling home-made burgers down his throat, he was as relaxed as usual. After supper we watched a film that was mercifully free of any sex scenes, and we chatted just as we would any evening. The remote control lay on the settee between us throughout the film, and Jake never came within a foot of me. It was a comfortable couple of hours -- even if it told me nothing about what I really wanted to know. Jake turned in just after eleven and I sat awhile downstairs after he had gone up, wondering if I hadn't just imagined everything after all. A half hour of fruitless wonderings later, I gave a sudden deep yawn and realised that for once I was genuinely tired and ready for sleep. For years I had been prone to insomnia and I took pills to help me sleep every night without fail -- but for once I didn't think I'd need them. The day's excitements -- and the relentless hours of research and deep thought had done more than a couple of little white pills could ever hope to achieve. I headed for my bed barely able to keep my eyes open. I managed to take off my skirt and swap the strappy t-shirt for an old, baggy one that served as a nightgown, and clambered gratefully under the sheet. As my head sunk into the pillow, my last waking thought was 'you do realise that you still don't have a clue how you're going to find out what Jake is really thinking?'. I grunted 'of course' to myself and closed my eyes. At first I thought it was another one of those disturbing dreams. I was alone in a warm, soft bed, resting easily. It was dark in the room in which the bed rested, and quiet, as peaceful as could be. But there was a feeling washing over me. A knowledge that, despite the lack of senses to prove anything, there was another presence within that dark room. In my dream I feigned continued sleep, my ears hoping to catch the slightest noise, my eyes staying shut to continue the pretence of sleep. I held my breath and waited, unsure whether the presence was a threat or not. For long seconds I stayed that may -- until a floorboard gave the softest of creaks. The sound was familiar -- a sound I'd heard a hundred times before -- and for the first time, I realised that maybe I wasn't dreaming, that maybe I was really awake. In either case I kept my eyes closed and gently let out my breath. Maybe it was a burglar and the last thing I wanted to do was scare him... but no.... whoever it was had been standing there for ages -- not the actions of a burglar. Which meant.... Since there was only me and Jake living there, it didn't exactly take long to find the solution, but it took a few seconds more before I managed to work out what it could mean. Jake was standing in my room. Jake had undergone a sexual episode with me very recently. So Jake wanted what? A proper look at me? The thought sent a (fairly) unexpected tremor of excitement through me -- until I realised it was pitch dark in my room. Another tremor followed when I realised that he might want to touch instead... I dismissed that notion pretty quickly as well. Although Jake thought that I was in a chemically-induced state of unconsciousness, to actually touch me would be extremely daring, and Jake wasn't so bold. Surely....? With a start, I realised that he'd moved to the side of the bed. Obviously I could, and maybe should, just wake up and ask what was going on, but there again, I was desperate to find out whether Jake was really interested in me as more than just a mother, and didn't this situation provide the perfect opportunity? I knew there were probably more holes in this theory than in all of the colanders downstairs in the kitchen, but in my sleep-befuddled state, I didn't care. Plus there was that ever-increasing sensation of excitement going on. Even in the total darkness of my room I could sense Jake's every move and I allowed my breathing to return to a deep, even rhythm -- my best impression of sleep-breathing -- as Jake knelt beside the bed. I had calculated that Jake would not have the nerve to actually touch me, and a soft click, followed by a gentle glow perceived through my firmly closed eyelids supported that conclusion: Jake had brought a flashlight with him. The glow also served to answer another question -- Jake was definitely here for some sort of look and that, surely, was proof of his interest in me? If I had harboured any doubts about the effect that all of this was having on me, they were dispelled when I felt the edge of the sheet being gently lifted from my upper body and carefully pulled down the bed. The relatively cool air washed over my thin t-shirt and my exposed legs, sending a shiver of pure excitement deep into my groin. Through my close eyelids, I could make out movement of the light as Jake was no doubt trailing it over my recumbent form. Laying there I felt so terribly, wonderfully exposed -- vulnerable and yet safe at the same time. Jake was clearly feeling some sort of excitement as well to judge by the way his rate of breathing increased, the air almost hissing through his lips. For long seconds there was no other sound, and no movement at all. I started to think that the episode was coming to an end, content that I had my answer, when Jake took a deeper breath -- and then held it in. My heart leapt into my throat and its rate soared as I felt fingertips touch the left-hand shoulder strap of the old, baggy t-shirt. My heart-rate increased to an almost alarming tempo as, fraction by fraction, Jake began to pull the strap down my arm. I could feel every single millimetre of flesh as it became exposed -- feel the edge of the material work its way oh-so slowly down the top of my left breast. Even if I had wanted to 'wake up', my body had other ideas and my brain wasn't far behind. Would my lovely, handsome young boy actually expose me? I had to find out -- just had to. My nipples were rigid and more sensitive than I could remember them being, and it was with a mixture of shock and delight that I could feel a dampness at my groin. As Jake's rate of progress slowed when the edge of the material approached my aureole I was genuinely surprised by my level of... well... disappointment. The realisation of what I was thinking caused me to take an involuntary sharper breath, my breasts rising higher, the material slipping just that fraction further. Jake froze and I quickly made my breathing return to the deeper rhythms of earlier. I could feel his fingers trembling ever so slightly, but at least he hadn't pulled away. Clearly he was used to this routine and the understanding sent another wave of excitement through me. His fingers eased the front of the t-shirt down another couple of millimetres and I was sure that he would now be able to make out the dark-pink crescent of the top of my left nipple, the very thought threatening to have me whimpering. I almost did whimper when his fingers released the material -- but as soon as I felt them tug the shoulder strap gently lower down my arm I was glad that I had resisted. As I felt his grip return to the front of my t-shirt I experienced a moment of panic as I finally understood that I was just about to allow (even though he didn't know it) my own son to bare my breast. The sensation passed in a wave of excitement as the edge of the material slipped across the tip of my rigid nipple. The sensation of being exposed was stronger, wilder and more exciting than anything I had ever experienced. Within a couple of seconds, Jake had pulled the material below the swell of my breast, exposing all of it to his gaze. His eager gaze, to judge by the increase in the speed of his breathing. I could sense that he was adjusting his position somehow and with a start realised that he was pushing at the front of his boxers. He gave a soft sigh -- I presumed, of release -- and there came a rhythmic movement of air from the side of the bed. It took all my will to suppress a shudder of delight as I realised what he must be doing... to himself. To be the object of such desire -- such forbidden desire -- was giddying. My body was aching with excitement, torn between the desire to watch my son and the need to maintain the charade of sleep so that he would suffer no embarrassment or worse. As the frustration I was feeling began to reach critical levels, Jake's rate of breathing increased and began to sound ragged. I understood at once what this indicated -- his approaching climax -- and the muscles in my pelvic floor spasmed in empathy. The only concern I had in the whole world now, was whether I could prevent myself from climaxing as well! If I had thought that this was the culmination of all possibilities of excitement, then I was disproved a couple of seconds later. Jake gave a deep, hissing breath and as a barely suppressed moan rose in his throat, his shaking fingers brushed over my exposed breast. I thought I would explode -- in every sense -- and when the grip became firmer, his hand now cupping my breast, my nipple rigid against the palm -- I had to clench every muscle in my body to prevent my climax from having me howl like a wild wolf. Jake came in a shuddering series of muted gasps, his free hand caressing and exploring the contours of my naked breast, a brief foray under the material cupping my right breast for a second or two as well. I held my own climax back -- struggled and clenched and willed it to wait -- until Jake had hastily pulled my t-shirt back up, covered me once more with the sheet, and then scurried from the room. No sooner had I heard his bedroom door ease shut than my hand was inside my soaked panties. Knowing that Jake would still be awake -- and not wanting him to have any idea that I had witnessed his adventure -- I flipped onto my belly, my fingers stroking at moist and eager lips as I let loose my orgasm. Wave after wave of such intensity crashed through me, my cries lost in the pillow. Such was the intensity of the climax, that for a while I thought it might never end -- that I would lose consciousness with my muscles taking into oblivion with joy. The memory of the feel of Jake's hand on my bare breast brought forth orgasm after orgasm, and even when my body had finished, my mind took me further. I've no idea how long the whole episode lasted, but afterwards, I felt exhausted beyond words. And overjoyed beyond imagining. Sunday morning dawned bright and sunny, and it was pretty much matched by my mood. Somehow, some way, I had all the answers I wanted, and now all I had to do was try to come to terms with my emotions and feelings. I lay in bed for a long while, turning over the possibilities given what had happened and what I had read about the previous day. To my surprise I wasn't totally freaked by all that had happened in the past day and a half, and I was equally surprised to find that I was already able to accept what was happening, and to square away my own feelings about everything. Jake was being a typical teenage male in some respects, and even if the focus of his curiosity -- or even just plain lust -- happened to be his own mother, it wasn't that unusual. My own feelings -- the desperate levels of excitement that Jake's arousal triggered deep within me -- was certainly a complete surprise, but I was honest enough with myself to be able to accept that it had just happened and that there was little I could do about it. I was all too aware of what society thought of such things following my research, but I was also aware that 'society' often thought things for the sake of convenience rather than for any logical reasons. We all know about the dangers of reproduction within a family group, but that didn't stop the underlying feelings -- the lust and desire -- from being any less real and any less persistent. In any case, I loved Jake with all my heart -- as a mother -- and it was obvious that he was desperate for come sort of intimate contact with a female. I still imagined that it was a case of any female, but even if I was wrong in that, what did it really matter when all was said and done? I resolved, in that cosy Sunday morning bed, that I would not in any way risk embarrassing my boy, but I also made a vow with myself that I would indulge his curiosity a little more. Nothing too serious, I thought, but maybe a little more wrestling, and maybe some more feigned sleep. Of course, my decisions were not entirely charitable. The excitement that Jake had brought out of me was intoxicating, and I confess that I wanted to experience that feeling again before Jake had satisfied his curiosity. Again, I vowed that things would not be taken too far and I was thorough and well-considered as I set myself a series of boundaries that I would not allow to be breached. To say that I was content with my decisions would be a terrible understatement -- and even then, I had to ensure I tempered my emotions with some mundane realism. For all I knew, Jake might already have satisfied his curiosity during that very preceding night. After all, I had only woken twice before with that strange sensation lingering from my sleep, and in all probability that meant that Jake had only ventured into my room twice before. Perhaps last night's third time would have been his charm, and I would remain unhappily unmolested during future nights. Jake's Progress Similarly, perhaps the intensity of the Friday night wrestling session would have scared him off such close contact while we were awake. All I could do was hope that this wasn't the case, for both our sakes -- for me it would be like having a brand new toy snatched back from me before I even had a chance to properly play with it, and for Jake... well, if I didn't lose my nerve, then maybe he would get to see a little more of me than he might have expected. I set about maintaining illusions over a late breakfast with my son, telling him that I had changed my brand of sleeping pills and that I loved the new ones because they were giving me wonderful dreams. To his credit, he didn't so much as twitch when I mentioned me sleeping and that gave me hope for the coming night (or nights if I was really lucky). After that, as we were washing up the breakfast things, I warned him that there was another fashion show on that evening and that if he didn't want to be embarrassed in front of his mummy again, then he would have to make himself scarce. Again. To his credit, his reaction was completely normal -- although the faintest hint of a blush coloured his cheeks for a few seconds. Having done all that I needed as far as my plans were concerned, I took myself off to the local supermarket and busied myself with the weekly grocery shop. By the time I got home Jake was, predictably, out and had left me a note saying that he would be back for supper by six o'clock, and that he was hoping and praying that my fashion show would be cancelled -- a message that had my heart skipping a beat. I started to feel like a teenager again -- and no, not in that way! I mean that I felt as if I were a teenager again, such was my level of nervous excitement. Chiding myself for such silly sensations, I packed away the shopping and spent the next couple of hours in the garden, mowing, weeding, pruning and just generally keeping my mind occupied. After that I took a much-needed shower and then selected a particularly short, light skirt, panties that bordered on see-through, and another one of my interminable collection of strappy t-shirts -- this one at least two sizes to big for me. The armholes came down so low that half of the side of my breasts were visible, and if I leaned forward there was a lot of clear air between my nipples and the thin cotton of the shirt. Satisfied that this was revealing enough -- and indeed, as revealing as I intended ever getting when Jake was around and we were both awake -- I spent a leisurely hour writing up notes about fashion-victimisation, and then prepared a summery salad for supper. I could tell that Jake was suitably impressed by my choice of clothing by the way he studiously managed to keep his gaze fixed on anything except what I was wearing -- at least when I was facing him -- while we were eating. I was even more impressed when he told me after we had finished that he would take care of the washing up and that I should 'go and watch whatever rubbish you want to watch'. I accepted gladly and settled myself on the sofa with my legs curled up, and my heart fluttering wildly. After a couple of attempts, I managed to locate a fashion programme and gave a wry smile as I saw that it was to be a Stella McCartney special -- for the uninitiated, Paul's daughter seems to have no concept of modesty in her designs. Jake took his time in the kitchen, stopping by the sofa once with a large glass of wine and a heart-felt sigh as he glanced at the television. I thanked him absently, feigning studious interest in Stella M's risqué collection, thereby avoiding a girlish giggle which might have alerted Jake to something odd about my mood. After what seemed like an eternity (approximately twenty minutes) Jake finally sauntered into the living room with his chore completed. The sauntering was, I admit, worthy of an Oscar nomination, if not one of the statuettes themselves. Even the long-suffering sigh he gave before he spoke was almost believable. "So," he began, "How long does the torture last tonight?" "What's that?" My reply was possibly not Oscar-standard, but it was a passable impression of someone who has barely registered the presence of another. "I was just wondering how long you're going to be hogging the television with yet another one of your dull, exploitative shows?" "You know the score -- just sit there and drool over the models, or leave me in peace." "I do not drool over the models!" I laughed, "I'll refrain from embarrassing you any further then. But as far as how long this goes on for, I think it's about forty minutes." "Three quarters of an hour!" "Not quite, but close, yes." "Ma! That really is too much! I mean, fair's fair -- couldn't we compromise on something else? You like the Antiques Roadshow so maybe we could watch that?" "Not a chance. I'm going off that show now that I'm almost an antique myself." "You're a long way from that!" Jake said, a ghost of a smile making the comment seem almost light-hearted. "Well, quite a long way." "Gee, thanks. Anyway, I guess I'm far enough to still give you a run for your money so don't think you can cheat your way to stealing the remote control again." "Cheat?" A slight tension entered Jake's voice, "I... I won that fair and square!" "Yeah, right! You wouldn't have stood a chance if I'd been ready for your surprise attack." My mouth was going dry, but I persevered, "Just know that I'm ready for any of your underhand tricks tonight." "Ma? I don't have to be underhand. You seem to forget that I've been working on a building site for the last few weeks and I'm in the best shape I've ever been. You're way too small and weak for me now." "Just because you've developed a few muscles doesn't mean that you can use them," I said, goading as gently as I dared, "There's more to wrestling things away from someone than brute force." "Don't tempt me to prove you wrong, Ma..." I laughed, partly to keep up the act, and partly because Jake's last comment had been oh-so close to being a question. "Well," I managed, "Whether I'm tempting you or not, you don't stand a chance tonight." "Are you sure, Ma?" "Oh, quite sure," I said as airily as I could given that my heart-rate had just sky-rocketed. Jake moved a few inches closer, "Totally sure?" "Beyond totally..." Jake took a deep breath, telegraphing his move, but needing to bring himself under some sort of control. I squealed and grabbed the remote, pushing it down beside my leg, hunching my back and curling myself over the top of it. As Jake started to tickle me once more, my giggles poured out of me, generated as much by the release of tension as by Jake's fingers. I twisted and squirmed, the skirt riding up my thighs as I scooted a few inches along the cushions, seemingly intent on covering the remote with my whole body. Jake's hands seemed to miss a few beats -- no doubt as he stared at the rapidly exposed flesh of my legs -- before he redoubled his efforts, bringing forth more giggles from me. The skirt slid inexorably higher, an inch at a time, and I let it ride as Jake's breathing became ragged. I could feel cooler air caressing the lower part of my butt cheeks and the heat blossoming in my groin -- and beside me, Jake was pressing closer. Like Friday night he started to try flipping me, but tonight three of his fingers met the flesh of my upper thigh and this time he didn't try nearly as hard to turn me over. At first I was confused, until I realised that his acting skills were of the highest order. By making out that it was more difficult than it seemed, he was able to let his fingers linger at my thigh -- and even to slip a little higher, until his thumb was resting on my get hip. I squirmed and squealed, giggling for all I was worth, and just about managing to goad him as I did so. "See? You can't do it tonight!" "Oh, no?" Jake panted, his breathing ragged more from excitement than from exertion, "I guess we'd better see about that!" He slid his other hand underneath me, palm upwards, ostensibly to try to grasp the front of my shoulder in order to turn me. His hand, of course, slid further 'than intended', his fingertips pressing into the softer flesh of my breast. I giggled again -- louder -- covering a shiver and a moan. Emboldened by my lack of reaction to where he was grasping me, Jake let his hand slide another inch -- until the tip of his middle finger was almost touching my nipple. I was breathing much harder now myself and my excitement levels were higher than ever before. I ignored the fingers and squirmed some more, the movement designed to look desperate and to achieve one more thing... moving my breast into Jake's hand. I giggled to cover both the movement and the result, somehow feigning a lack of awareness of the hand-to-breast situation, "You're not gonna anywhere without trying your tricks!" Jake almost squawked, his fingers going limp for a second before he realised that -- just maybe -- I either hadn't noticed or didn't care. After a short pause he risked tightening his grasp -- or possibly his just couldn't help himself -- and in a decidedly strangled voice, said, "Well if that's what it takes!" He gave a sudden heave and was flipped onto my back before I realised what was happening. I pulled one knee upright, the skirt falling down my legs and into my lap, cool air caressing the front of my panties. I squealed, still giggling, making no effort to cover myself and instead, pushed the remote control under the small of my back with one hand and tried a weak attempt at pushing Jake back with the other. My son's right hand had slipped away from my hip, but his left was still on my upper chest -- but now his fingertips were under the shoulder strap of the t-shirt. He seemed frozen again, and I could see him glance down towards my exposed panties, and the colour flaring brighter in his cheeks as he saw the shadow of my pubic thatch through the gauzy material. I was finding speech difficult myself, but I was in such a state of arousal that I forced myself to utter, "See? You might have the strength but you haven't got the guile. There's no way you can get the remote until you learn that simple lesson!" "Ma?" Jake managed, "I can pin you down with one hand and take it with other, no problem." "Oh yeah? Well, why don't you?" "It might be a little... well embarrassing for you." His eyes were almost pleading now. "Excuses, excuses!" Jake swallowed noisily, "Don't say I didn't warn you!" He shifted his weight with a jerk and pressed down with his right hand, the strap of the t-shirt slipping off my shoulder as his fingers pressed into the upper part of my chest. The overlarge t-shirt was now loose across my bust and I was incredibly conscious of the sensation of being so close to exposed. In fact, the sensation consumed my attention so much that it took me a few moments to realise that Jake's other hand was sliding underneath me in an effort to reach the remote control -- or at least, in an effort to make it look as if he was reaching for it. I had pushed the plastic gizmo down the small of my back and my son's hand was taking the scenic route to reach it, his palm turn upwards as it snaked under my butt. The touch of his fingers across the almost bare cheeks of my ass had me squealing again and I started to wriggle like crazy -- partly to protect the remote and prolong the game and mostly so that I didn't lose control by focusing on any one of the myriad sensations coursing through me. When I paused for breath, I found Jake's right hand holding my wrist and his left still pressing down on the upper part of my chest. My skirt was now virtually around my waist and the t-shirt had slid an inch or two lower. My son's hips were pressed against the side of my right thigh, and his erection was dizzyingly obvious, his cock now almost upright inside his tennis shorts. I knew that my panties would be showing just as obvious signs of my own arousal, but such was that arousal, I really didn't care. Jake, though, was beginning to struggle for self-control. He clearly knew that a single, 'accidental' move would pull the front of the t-shirt down and I could see the desperation in his eyes battling with the need to continue the seemingly innocent nature of the game. I could also see from his colour and hear from his rapid breathing that, whatever happened, he was finding things extremely difficult. As if to confirm this, Jake's muscles relaxed and he pulled his right hand out from underneath me, "Sorry, Ma, but I need to get to the bathroom." He paused a second, did a double-take, and rapidly added, "To pee, I mean!" Jake wasn't the only one that was desperate, however. I had set my boundaries and so far they hadn't been reached. Plus, I had a new goal in mind -- a desperation (because there is no other word) to actually make my son lose control. I confess, also, that my rational brain was on vacation, having left everything in the less-than-capable hands of my libido. "Oh, you chicken! You just don't want to admit that you can't beat me! In fact...." I took my chance as Jake tried to keep his eyes on my face rather than my panties. I lifted both hands and pushed Jake off the edge of the sofa, my sudden movement catching him by surprise, "In fact... you are just trying to avoid being beaten by your little mum!" Unprepared for my sudden attack, Jake slid to the floor, his rump hitting the rug and his shoulders following as I rolled off the sofa and leapt on top of him. I've probably done my libido a disservice by suggesting that it's less-than-capable, because right then it was on top form. I landed with my knees either side of Jake's hips, and with the skirt still up around my waist, my panties were in direct contact with my son's shorts. To make things even better, his height advantage meant that I had to lean forward quite a distance in order to keep my hands pressed onto his shoulders. Jake's genuine surprise turned to totally faked helplessness as his eyes focused on the view down the front of my now gaping t-shirt -- a view made all the more obvious because the left shoulder strap was still hanging low on my upper arm. "I win!" I laughed, "Admit it!" Jake's eyes took on a look of panic, "Yeah, yeah you win, Ma, but I really do need to go... to go pee." For a few long seconds I considered pinning him there until he climaxed. The feel of his throbbing cock against my pussy -- even through three layers of material -- was just so compelling. And, I admit, I was excited beyond anything I'd felt before. Fortunately, though, my rational brain made a brief appearance and I understood that if I scared him at all now, then the game would probably be over for good. So far we had managed to maintain the mutual pretence that we were just playing and that everything was innocent, but if I took things just that fraction too far the myth would be shattered. Even with the decision made, pulling back was one of the toughest things I'd had to face as far as sexual gratification was concerned. I began to sit up, but at the last second decided I deserved one tiny little treat more. "Ok, a technical victory to me then," I sighed. With as much nonchalance as I could muster, I paused and reached for the remote control, sitting forgotten on the sofa cushions. "The trophy remains mine!" I smiled down at Jake as I sat back, tensing my thighs to take my weight off of his hips. As I straightened, I feigned a tiny loss of balance and with the remote control in one hand, struggled to regain my equilibrium. As I jammed my left hand down beside us I felt the front of the t-shirt suddenly slip lower and had to suppress a moan of pure delight as cool air fanned across my now exposed nipple. I continued to stand, seemingly unaware of my state of dishabille and only as I attained an upright position did I 'realise', my attention being drawn to the fact by Jake's jaw-hanging stare. "Oh god, sorry!" I laughed, pulling the strap back onto my shoulder and trying not to whimper at the look of pure lust in my son's eyes. Jake paused just long enough to check that the show really was over and then shot to his feet before almost running from the room. Of course I knew what Jake had to do, and it was certainly at the opposite end of the scales from 'going' -- and I knew just how he felt. There's a full length mirror in the corner of the living room and I stood in front of it, rearranging my clothing to the way it was just a few moments before -- my left breast bare and my skirt around my waist. In all honesty and trying to suppress my modesty, I'm amazed that Jake held on as long as he did. With a whimper I slid the panties a few inches down my thighs and knelt before the mirror. Jake would be ages upstairs, I reasoned, and even if he wasn't I wouldn't take long. As my fingers sought the hot wetness at my groin I wondered briefly how I would explain things if Jake returned quickly for any reason -- but I didn't have a chance to answer myself before my climax started with a sudden, urgent intensity. Shocked but delighted, I could barely suppress the moans as wave after wave of pure pleasure engulfed me. Unlike Friday night, Jake made a reappearance after the wrestling session. He was certainly cautious at first, but it was soon clear that he was merely checking that I had remained 'unaware' of just how exciting he had found the whole episode. He made sideways references to it being an unfair fight and even chanced his arm with a mention of a 'next time'. To judge by the flush that coloured his face when I replied 'you won't win however many times you try', this was something he had been praying rather hard for. I resisted the urges I had to mention my 'wardrobe malfunction' on the grounds that I wanted to maintain the illusion of innocence, but I made no effort to hide the fact that my nipples were almost painfully erect as we chatted. Jake eventually decided that he needed an early night on the grounds that he was due back on the building site in the morning, and I casually mentioned that I was going to take an extra sleeping pill on the grounds that the weather was too hot to make sleeping easy -- especially for a chronic insomniac like me -- and that I enjoyed the dreams they gave me. I had directed the comment at Jake's back as he left the living room, and I had to suppress a laugh as he almost walked into the doorframe. I knew that if I was to maintain the pretence of 'life as usual' then I wouldn't be able to head for my bed for at least another hour, and the next sixty minutes dragged interminably. To make matters worse, I was as certain as I could be that Jake would once again visit my room once he was sure I was asleep -- and it was a prospect that filled me with that weird mixture of excitement, nervousness and teenage angst. I tried not to think about what might happen later, but my mind insisted on returning to the subject in the manner of dogs and vomit the world over. I didn't believe that Jake would have the nerve to even come close to exceeding my self-imposed limits, and for that I had mixed feelings. On the one hand, it would mean that we would both get to experience the dizzy heights of our taboo lusts, but on the other, it meant that I wouldn't be too shocked but what he might try. I chided myself for even thinking such a thing because any indiscretion on Jake's part would end the fun -- and the pretence -- for good. Instead I concentrated on the positives, and the knowledge that Jake was convinced I would be totally out for the count and that he must still be incredibly horny from the earlier wrestling session. This turned my mind to the prospect of potential disappointment. What if the wrestling had exhausted him or provided him with enough satisfaction? Never having been a teenage male, I could hardly gauge whether this might be the case, but the thought of me waiting there in bed all night and him not showing was, I realised with a start, too much to contemplate. If I hadn't been quite so desperate, I would have had another giggling fit!