111 comments/ 276689 views/ 127 favorites Mother Son Chance Happening By: xyster It was one of those coincidences that only happen when stars are lined up on a very specific plane. There is no other way to explain it. I was at the back of our house, squeezed next to the air conditioner unit, doing something which wasn't really that important, when I heard my mother's voice coming through the small window in my parent's bathroom. Window was slightly open and I could hear my mother's muffled voice as she spoke to someone over her cellular phone. It was an amazing coincidence. She just happened to have her phone with her while using the toilet, which was a rare thing in itself, and I just happened to be within earshot to hear what she was saying. I really didn't want to hear her conversation but there are certain words that one just can't ignore, even if one tries to, especially when the words are coming from one's mother's mouth. My ears perked up when I heard my mother say: "You know, I don't even know anymore what a dick feels like. It's been that long." At first, I didn't believe that I even heard it right. Out of shear curiosity, I held my breath and listened carefully while trying very hard not to make any sound. There was a long pause as she just listened to someone on the other side, with occasional "huh", "yeah", and "I know" breaking the silence. Finally she spoke at length: "You know, I have tried all that, but it's no use. We've reached a point where sex is not a part of our routine." Holy shit! I exclaimed under my breath. My mother was complaining about her sex life. I didn't know who it was on the other end, but it must've been someone very close to her. That's why she was talking to that person so openly and comfortably. Another pause while she just listened. Then she spoke: "I don't know how to deal with it. Sometimes I am so horny, I can't even sleep, while he is snoring away like nothing is wrong." I had never associated the word "horny" with my mother. I had always seen her in such a clean and wholesome way that I never knew she had sexual urges like...like...well, like me. At the risk of sounding naïve, I honestly never associated sex with mom. She had always been a mother and never just a woman to me. I know that she and my father slept together, and in the back of my mind I knew they got intimate with each other, but I had just closed my mind to thinking that that intimacy actually meant sex. I never thought of my father "sexing" my mother, where my father actually inserted his dick into her pussy; the dick that she said she didn't know how it felt any more. Mother and pussy were two words that were never meant to be together for me. My mother was just a mother, pure and chaste. When her conversation implied that she had a pussy, and that that pussy was craving a dick, well, I didn't want to hear any more. I even forgot what I was doing, or why I happened to be there. I just wanted to get away from there and be as far away from my mother's voice as possible. Later when I saw her in the kitchen, I felt a little uncomfortable at being in her presence. I had this slight sense of guilt at being privy to her dilemma without her knowledge or consent. This guilt made me feel a little different about her. Knowing about her situation somehow made her look a little different as well. I couldn't really explain it, but the feelings were there nevertheless. When she came by the sitting room, I couldn't help but notice her legs. I really didn't want to but I did. Not only that, but my eyes jumped quickly to the region between her legs, the region where she hadn't felt a...well...you know! It didn't help that she was wearing jeans with her T-shirt tucked in. That made the part between her legs very visible—pronounced even! Her words echoed in my ears as I practically stared at her thighs. She was wearing her favorite jeans and the region where her thighs came together had a bit of a gap, thus highlighting...well...her pussy quite prominently. I had seen her in those jeans before but never did I see that gap through her legs or the triangular shaped contours. In hindsight, I probably didn't see any contours; only imagined them. It seems quite difficult to have seen them, considering her jeans were made from such thick material, but my mind was seeing her in a different light, to say the least. I felt a little jarred at being aware of her pussy so much. I had difficulty sleeping that night. After my mother and father retired to their room for the night, I kept imagining her under him, feeling that dick that she said she hadn't felt in a long time. I tried to shake the whole thing off my mind but it kept coming back. I kept seeing the region of her pants with that gap and my father's dick filling that gap. I felt very uncomfortable with my thoughts and I couldn't tell whether it was the fact that I kept seeing my mother's pussy-region that made me feel uncomfortable or the thoughts of my father fucking her. Next day I felt quite upset. My body language was quite noticeable, as even she asked me if I was feeling okay. She was wearing the same jeans but with a different, rather formfitting, T-shirt. For the first time in my adult life, I also noticed breasts on my mother. I couldn't believe she had such nice—and big—breasts. My breath came in such a strong burst at that realization that I felt a little disoriented. For the rest of the day, my mind kept jumping from that gap between her legs to those breasts, those nice—and big—breasts of hers. I kept hearing her words about not knowing anymore what a dick felt like and how she felt horny at times. I have to admit that the transition from seeing her as just a mother to seeing her as a woman, with breasts and other female parts, was too much. It was like a veil had been lifted and where there was only fog before, I saw a clear picture of a woman. I may have had certain thoughts buried deep in my psyche that jumped to the top of my mind when she mentioned her being horny. She became someone different and someone new to me. Where I would have had trouble looking at her breasts and the gap between her legs before, it became easy with each passing day to not only look, but to admire even, what I saw. I don't know if she noticed the change, but many a times I could have been caught easily. One late night as I was watching TV, I heard my mother's footsteps in the kitchen. I had expected her to be sleeping by then, but she wasn't. She came to where I was, with a glass of juice in her hand. "Can I watch some TV with you?" She asked as she sat on the smaller sofa, which was placed perpendicular to the big one where I was sitting. She was wearing a nightie, which meant that she had gone to bed and then gotten up. "Can't sleep?" I asked, as I remembered what she had said during her phone conversation about being so horny that she couldn't sleep. I wondered if that was her condition at that time; if she was really horny while she came to watch TV. My body tensed up at the realization that I was in the presence of a woman who may be in a state of arousal. As she sat there, sipping her drink, she seemed in no hurry to finish it and get back to her bed. I stole a few quick glances while her eyes were on the television. Her breasts were big and nice, as I had noticed before, but this time I also noticed how nice her legs were. Her nightie was long enough to reach slightly above her knees, but as she sat on the sofa, it pulled up some and revealed a bit of her thighs. May be it was late into the night, maybe the movie on TV was having an effect on me, but I liked the look of her thighs. They looked quite sexy. That was the word that came to my mind as we both sat there and watched TV, or in my case, at least tried to watch it. All I could see were her thighs and the thought that she may be horny kept running through my head. She sat there for quite a while. Eventually, she got up, exclaiming: "Well, I better go. It's late." I said nothing. After she got up, she came to me to say good night. Usually our good night is just a quick peck on the lips, as it was that night: a dry, light, and barely noticeable kiss. But, this time it had more significance for me because of all the other variables zooming in my brain. She was wearing a pleasant smelling perfume, which only exacerbated the situation. I felt quite warm. As I watched her turn away to go to her room, I noticed how the silky, soft material of her nightgown was following the contours of her curves. It was hugging the rise and fall of her butt, along with a slight dip between her two cheeks. That view completed her transition in my mind from a mother to a rather attractive woman. My mother is an attractive woman, I kept repeating to myself. Yet, she wasn't getting any! My father had a desirable woman in his bed every night, yet he didn't get the urge to do anything to her. I couldn't figure that out. I also couldn't figure out why my mother had become desirable all of a sudden. Well, it wasn't that sudden, but the fact that I was thinking of my mother as a desirable woman has to have some significance. Why was I finding her desirable? I know that it started with my awareness of her sexual desires, but I was her son after all, and that shouldn't have mattered much. Her desires were for someone else, not for me; definitely not for me. The only thing that I could think of was my own desires, and the awakening of my desires for her. Why was I then desiring her? Was I desiring her? I can't say. The fact that she was horny sometimes and the fact that she was not fulfilled sexually, made me feel something for her. Knowing that she was looking for sex but she couldn't get it from my father, put this thought in my mind that maybe I could help her. Her being my mother was a tremendous block and I couldn't really, openly, think of that happening, but there was somewhere in the back of my mind the thought, that at least I could entertain the idea. Being a man, that possibility, even if it was a fleeting one, made her desirable to me and that, as I've said before, was significant. I normally stay up late; a habit left over from my college days. The fact that I work the second shift at a local store meant that the habit became chronic. I usually spend time working on my computer, but ever since my newly acquired knowledge about my mother, and especially after that warmth I had recently felt, I found myself veering a lot towards the TV. I often found myself in the living room, subconsciously hoping to feel warm again. It took a while for my mom to notice my new routine. At first, she would only show up by chance and then sit a while with me watching something or other. Soon enough though, she started to join me on regular basis. She never sat too long though, but long enough to have some meaningful company. I guess she needed someone to acknowledge her presence. Her wishes of goodnight were sometimes verbal while other times she gave me a peck before leaving. The initial warmth that I had felt, kind of withered away as I became used to her pecks. There was no substance or any special meanings to those pecks. They were just a polite formality; a formality that I didn't much care for. I decided to go back to my old routine and spend time with my computer. Besides, late night TV wasn't as exciting as I remembered it to be. Only thing is, she wasn't aware of my decision to change back to my original routine. She noticed my absence from the living room on the very first day and came to check on me. "Are you not watching any TV tonight?" "No, I just wanted to finish this project." I made an excuse. "Oh!" She seemed a bit disappointed; at least that's what I thought. There wasn't much else to say, but she didn't want to leave yet, so she sat on the foot of my bed and started to flip through a magazine that I had on my table. I pretended to be busy, so she flipped quietly. After a long while, I heard her put the magazine away and get up. "I guess I'll turn in." I turned my chair towards her and said: "I am almost done. If you want, we can go to the TV room soon." "No, that's okay. You carry on." She replied as she came towards me. Now this part also has some significance. I may have been reading too much when I thought she seemed a bit disappointed at my absence from the TV room, but when she came to give me a goodnight kiss, there was some determination in her body language. I am very sure of that. It was as if she was making a point by making sure that there was a goodnight kiss and not just a verbal greeting. I leaned forward and waited for her to kiss me goodnight. Usually she just bends a little and touches my lips with hers. Her hands are usually held on her sides. That night, she actually put her right hand on my left shoulder as she kissed me. I decided not to make much of that gesture and excused it by reasoning that I was sitting on a chair instead of a sofa, thus causing her to place her hand on my shoulder for balance, but that kiss felt slightly different than usual, there was no doubt about that. It was just a hunch but I felt that she had been looking forward to our being together, to watching TV for a while, with someone to keep her company. She had become accustomed to our late night get-togethers and missed it when I wasn't there. I noticed her disappointment in her kiss—maybe. It was then that the idea came to my mind. If it was possible for her to make the kiss feel different, then was it possible for me to make it different as well, in another way. The more I thought about it, the more excited I felt about the prospect. Ever since I had heard her mention about her being horny, there was a slight fire that I felt burning in my brain, which I also felt in my body whenever she was around during those late nights. I knew from her cellphone conversation that sometimes she felt so sexually aroused that she couldn't sleep. I assumed that some of the late nights that she spent with me, she must have been in that state, not necessarily because of me, but in that state nevertheless. Assuming that she was in that state when she was with me, then would she look at me with desire, as I found myself looking at her? Was there then a similar fire in her heart, as there was one in mine? Was it possible to indirectly stoke that fire and make her at least feel different about me, as I was feeling different about her? Can I make here entertain the idea that may be I offered her some possibilities, even though it was just an idea and nothing more? There was no way for me to find these things out, I mean where does one even begin. Many times I thought I sensed a certain agitation in her, but almost always it was just a hunch. There was really no way to be certain. There was no way to even get a hint about how she felt. Her kiss did betray some of her feelings, but they had nothing to do with what I wanted to know. Sure she may have been disappointed when I wasn't there to be with her, but that was a psychological issue. She liked my company and she could feel disappointed even when her son was not there to be with her. I wanted her to be disappointed for some other reason. Maybe, in a platonic sort of way, I was fulfilling a need, not as a son, but as a man. I wanted to know that. I wanted to feel that there was some possibility of a physical need being filled, even if we were to never act on it. Now, all of a sudden, I saw an opportunity to at least "test the waters", so to speak. If I could, somehow, make my kiss feel different to her, give her a hint of some sort, make her feel something different, stroke even one nerve in a way a man—and not a son—would, then at least I could measure the possibility of something. I thought about it for a long, long while that night and worked out the details of how I could introduce some substance to our goodnight pecks. As I looked at the prospect from different angles, my excitement started to reach a fever pitch. On the one hand, I felt very stimulated by the thoughts of what would happen when I were to carry out my plan. On the other, I felt a great fear of my plan backfiring on me. She could react either in a positive way, giving me a response that would stoke the fire a little more, or in a negative way, thus permanently closing all doors on any possibility that may never have existed. The plan was very simple. I was taking my cue from her subtle reaction and wanted to sort of experiment with it in my own way. It may even sound stupid but I felt that my plan provided me that one needle in this humongous haystack that I was looking for. All of our goodnight kisses usually were dry, light, and barely noticeable touches of the lips, as I mentioned before. What if—I asked myself repeatedly—what if they were not so dry? I couldn't really press my lips onto hers, as that would be against the social norms, but what if my lips were not dry? What if she were to feel the wetness? How would she react then? Would she react then?! The more I planned for it to happen, the more agitated I became. So much so that I couldn't sleep that night, just wondering about the possible reactions I would get from her. I made sure I was in front of that TV the following night. She came, as I had expected that she would come and probably be a little excited to see me there. She didn't show it though, which made me think twice about my plan, but I stuck to it. As usual, we watched TV for a while and then she finally said: "Well, I better go. It's late." "Ok." I replied as I quickly licked my lips. She wasn't looking at me when I did that. I licked again a couple of times to make sure they were fairly wet. I didn't want to be slobbering, but I wanted them to be wet enough for her to feel the wetness. I then braced myself for her reaction. My heart was pounding as she made her way to my sofa. I leaned a little forward to make it easy for her to reach my lips. I had to breathe through my mouth to steady myself. I felt my lips getting dry as a result. I don't know if she noticed when I darted my tongue out again quickly to wet them once more, just before our contact. I actually closed my eyes when her lips touched mine. My face was flush and burning hot with excitement. I even held my breath so she wouldn't feel it on her face with so much force. The wetness on my lips enhanced the sensation of our touch. It was not our usual, barely noticeable, touching of the lips. That touch was quite noticeable to me, as I am sure it must have been to her. She whispered good night and turned around to go to her room. There was no noticeable reaction from her, even though I am sure she went away with some of my wetness. There was nothing out of the ordinary that I could put my finger on. It seemed like our kiss was just a routine kiss to her. There was nothing different. I had wanted it to be different, hoping for her to notice the difference, but she didn't. It was now my turn to feel disappointed. As high as I had felt before, I hit an even harder low. I had expected either a positive or a negative reaction. As I lay in my bed that night, I felt tired, emotionally exhausted, and very disappointed. I would have settled easily for a negative reaction. I didn't know how to respond to a "no reaction". While I moped in bed, trying to fall asleep, I couldn't help but notice a slight erection that I had developed due to my excitement, despite the disappointment. My disappointment stayed with me throughout the next day. There was also a lot of guilt and a lot of shame that accompanied it. What I had done was wrong, somehow, and I felt bad for having done it. When the time came for our so called get-together the following night, I almost didn't go. I probably would have stayed in my room, if it wasn't for the fact that I didn't want her to come to my room. It seemed more sensible just to go out into the TV room and face whatever music that I had made for myself. Mother Son Chance Happening She didn't show any change in her behavior, which was probably a good thing. I felt relieved by her "no reaction", as opposed to my wanting some reaction the previous night, even a negative one, because I realized that I really wasn't ready for any change in our routine. It dawned on me that I, too, enjoyed our late night get-togethers, thus highlighting some psychological need of mine being fulfilled by her. I had introduced more substance into our kisses, and I had done so without causing any alarm. My guilt and shame slowly went away with the relief that I felt at being able to get away with my experiment without any penalty or any price. There was a change in my behavior though. There was a difference in the way I looked at her that night. I felt less uncomfortable looking at her. I had lifted another veil and she didn't reprimand me or complained about it. I actually enjoyed looking at her that night. Although, I wasn't sure if she even knew that something had happened. Again, we sat there watching TV. Again, she said: "Well, I better go. It's late." I didn't wet my lips this time. I didn't have the courage to repeat my experiment, despite the absence of any negative reaction. I leaned forward and waited for her to kiss me so I could go to my room as well and revel a little in the sweetness that was coursing through my body. Her lips touched mine as usual, with nothing special there for me to feel. But I did feel something. It was barely discernable, but I definitely felt it. There was no doubt in my mind that I felt a slight, ever so slight puckering of her lips as they touched mine. I normally would have dismissed it as untimely contraction of her lips, but this seemed more voluntary than happenstance. Instead of being a light kiss, there was some pressure, ever so slight as it may have been, that her lips applied onto mine. I spent an agonizing day that followed. I kept wondering if it was real or if I had just imagined it, sort of a wishful thinking like. Was she trying to get more out of our kiss or was she just trying to avoid getting more out of our kiss, as if to counter what my wetness had introduced, by puckering and minimizing the surface area that made contact with my lips. I needed to feel it again in order to answer my own curiosity. I needed to be in the same setup with her as the previous night and this time I was going to pay attention to every single detail of our goodnight kiss. I even debated if I should wet my lips this time, but that would have changed the variables. I had to keep my lips dry like they were then and see what her lips would do. The evening and the early part of the night were even more agonizing. But not as agonizing as the period when we were watching TV, with me waiting for our goodnight kiss and the time being frozen still. That wait was excruciating. But the time finally came for her to leave and for us to kiss goodnight. I leaned forward as usual and I closed my eyes so that I could focus all my attention on that kiss. I felt her lips on my lips. But I didn't feel any pressure from her lips onto mine, as I had felt the previous night. She did not pucker her lips as I had thought she had done before. There was something different though, as I felt my upper lip slip between her lips with ease. As it turned out, she had wet her own lips this time. Whether it was purely by chance, or whether she had wetted them on purpose, I couldn't tell, because I didn't see her wet them. I only felt them after they had made contact with mine. At the same time I couldn't assume that she did it on purpose, even if she did. But one thing was for sure; if she did wet them on purpose, then it would seem that she was also trying to give our goodnight kiss more substance, just like I had tried to give it more substance before. I could feel her wetness onto my own lips and I could even taste it as I licked them afterwards. I wondered if she had felt my wetness the same way on her lips and whether she had tasted it like I tasted hers. I wondered if it had tasted sweet to her the way her wetness tasted sweet to me. I kept licking my lips for a long while after she had left, trying to preserve the taste and the sensations. My mother did not kiss me goodnight. My mother actually kissed me, ever so slightly as may be the case. Whether it was voluntary or just by pure coincidence, my erection didn't know the difference. It wasn't so slight that night and I went to sleep fully erect. Surprisingly, I felt less guilt and shame the next day. I had accepted my arousal caused by my own mother and I had become comfortable at being excited by her. It was okay to have those feelings for my mother—as long as it was all in my own head. While there was a harmless—yet titillating—game going on, it was only a game nevertheless, as I couldn't see it going too far. She was my mother, after all. I could be aroused by her, there was probably nothing wrong with that, but I couldn't really be with her in that sort of way. Even though we had kissed each other with wet lips, it wasn't enough to change anything between us. We—that is, if she did do it on purpose—had done it supposedly without the other person's knowledge and we had done it with possible deniability. If one were to object, the other could simply feign innocence by refusing to acknowledge that there was anything more to those kisses than simple goodnight kisses between mother and son. We were nudging the line a little, but we couldn't really acknowledge that we were nudging it. There was something there, but we couldn't really read anything into it. Definitely we couldn't act on it. The instance one of us acted on it, the other was programmed to run away from it. That's just the way it is meant to be. I couldn't expect that experiment to develop into anything else. It was a harmless experiment, from all angles, to give some titillation to our late-at-night lonely hearts; to get the blood running a little faster; but it could never become a prelude to something bigger. It just couldn't. She was my mother and I was her son. Line was drawn by nature and the line couldn't be crossed—ever! I felt a bit sad and somewhat disappointed at the thought that the line could never be crossed. Obviously we had something to offer to each other but couldn't really make the actual offer. I felt somewhat depressed for no obvious reason and felt heavy hearted enough to not go to the TV room the following night. Once again, I stayed in my room. In hindsight, I believe I was looking for some additional attention, because I was hoping for her to notice my absence and then make an effort to show that she did miss our being together. There was some validation in that that I craved. She came to check on me, as I had hoped that show would, as I had, somewhere in the back of my mind, wanted her to do. I wasn't working on my computer so I couldn't use my previous excuse. I was in bed instead, just sitting there thinking. "Are you okay?" She asked softly. "Yes, I am okay. Just feeling a little tired." She seemed a little confused. I wasn't lying down as I would have been if I was really tired. I was just sitting there, above the covers. There was some concern on her face and I couldn't really tell what it was about. I tried to read her body language to see if there was anything for me to latch onto. There was nothing. It seemed she wanted to say something but couldn't bring herself to utter the words. I also wanted to say something but I didn't know what to say. Finally, she just turned towards the door quietly, not even wishing me goodnight. That, in itself, was significant. I knew I was probably being unfair to her, so I decided to give her a way out. I also decided to give myself a way out. "If you give me a few minutes, I'll come and join you." The best way to end our dilemma, end our guilt, end our shame if it was there, and make things go back to normal, was to pretend like nothing had ever happened. I could see a tremendous weight lift from her shoulders, as she immediately perked up. It was contagious, as I felt better almost instantaneously. Nothing had happened the previous night. We didn't do anything, and we definitely didn't do anything wrong. We turned the TV on. This time we also talked about one or two mundane things. There was a bit more familiarity between us for some reason. We had become a little friendlier. Even though our get together was short, it was more meaningful than before. We ended it by wishing each other goodnight with a quick peck on the lips; a dry, light, and barely noticeable kiss. We both retired to our rooms at the same time. In the days and nights that followed, I tried very hard to keep the memory of her sweet taste alive, but it faded after a while. Our routine continued where we would watch TV together, talk a while, and then end the night with a goodnight kiss. I have to admit though that we actually became more at ease with each other than we had been previous to our wet kisses. There was a bond that we had developed that brought us even closer, in a platonic sort of way. We actually started to talk more and more, to each other and about each other. It seemed she had a lot to say, as I found myself listening to all kind of things, just simple things, about an incidence here and an occurrence there. At this stage, I must explain two things. One, how was it possible for us to spend that kind of time together without alarming my father? Two, how was it possible to keep our routine separate from her routine with my father? Our house is built like a U-shape. My parent's bedroom is at the far end of the left leg while the kitchen is at the far end of the right leg. The TV room is right next to the kitchen and my bedroom is next to the TV room. There is an additional room between my room and the corridor on my parent's side of the house. There is another room where that side of the leg starts, and then there is my parent's room at the top of that leg. During the day time, my mother goes out through the large glass door that opens onto a veranda, which is between the kitchen and the corridor on the other side. At night, she has to go from the kitchen to the TV room; then exit onto the corridor, which passes in front of my room and the room adjacent to that. The corridor then turns, passing in front of the third room and ends up in front of my parent's bedroom. The distance from my parent's bedroom to the TV room is fairly long, making it impossible for my father to hear or see anything on this side of the house. We could watch TV and talk gently without ever disturbing him, as the sound would never reach him and the light from the kitchen or the TV would never disturb him. Still, we kept all noise to a minimum and all conversations low so as not to wake him. The only way for him to see us, would have been if he actually came to our area personally, but my parents have their own mini-fridge, with tea and coffee makers, so there was never any need for him to venture back into this side of the house after retiring to his room. I work the second shift. My father on the other hand works from eight to five. He leaves the house around six in the morning to commute to his work, while I sleep through the morning and go to work around two in the afternoon. My father comes home from work around seven at night, eats his dinner, watches some TV, and then retires to his room by nine. I usually come home after he is already asleep. I shower, eat my dinner and then stay up watching TV where my mother also joins me. This gives my mother enough time to have one routine with him and then spend time watching TV with me without having to worry about my father and without having to go to bed early. As my mother and I spent more and more time together, our intimacy increased ever so slowly. At times, she even sat on the same sofa that I was sitting on, albeit, at the far end of it. It was then only a matter of time before thoughts of more substance in our kisses came back to one of us. The question was as to who would be the first and how the other would respond. One weekend, my father was away on a seminar. This gave us a chance to be even more free with each other and I decided to rent a movie. We watched the movie together, as there was no hurry for her to leave. Our time together extended well beyond our usual routine. We even watched a late movie on TV, in addition to the rented movie. We stayed up quite late that night and it was actually me who suggested that we should turn in for the night. I removed the DVD from its player, put it back in its casing, and turned the TV off, while she put the dishes away in the kitchen sink, to wash them in the morning. Our corridor runs the length of the house, as I've mentioned before, starting from the TV room, passing by my room first and then by other rooms in the house, including the guest room, and winding its way down to her bedroom. I checked to make sure that the door leading to the veranda was locked while she switched the lights off in the kitchen and in the TV room. We both then walked to the corridor in semi-darkness. Normally our goodnight kiss is with me sitting on the sofa leaning forward and her bending down to reach my lips. That night, however, it had to be at the point where I went to my room and she went to hers, which was in front of my bedroom door. We stopped there to wish each other goodnight. This kiss had to be with the two of us standing face to face, where she had to raise her face towards me and I had to lower my face onto hers to kiss her. This kiss was automatically more intimate than the other ones, with semi-darkness adding an air of mystique to it. We were so close that I could feel her breasts next to my chest, the first time for us to be close that way. I don't know if they were actually touching me, but they were next to my ribs; quite close indeed considering she has big breasts. We both had spent quite a long time together that day, having fun, enjoying each other's company. I was feeling a bit sweet all over and the guilt of our previous wet kisses had completely disappeared. Just to make things even more thrilling—inadvertently, most likely—she placed her left hand on my right arm for support. I definitely felt her breasts brush up against my chest as she lifted herself up to reach higher. I felt aroused and for whatever reason, my tongue darted in and out to wet my lips just as they reached hers. She couldn't have seen it because of the relative darkness surrounding us. As our lips touched each other, almost as a reflex, her other hand found my other arm. Instinctively, my lips pressed onto hers with a little more pressure than usual. It was a brief kiss but with long lasting effect. Her lips were also wet. She had wetted them, just like I had wetted mine. Since I was descending onto her, when our lips met and pressed into each other, the mutual wetness made it easy for her upper lip to slip between my lips slightly while my lower lip slipped between her lips, slightly. Almost instinctively, we both held each other's lips. I could taste her saliva and it felt quite nice. I am sure she must have tasted mine as well. As soon as she realized that our supposed good night peck had turned into an actual kiss, she tensed up. Her hands gently pushed me away from her as she pulled her mouth away from mine. Our kiss ended rather abruptly as she whispered goodnight and hurried away to her bedroom. I must have stood there for at least ten minutes before I managed to get myself into my room and then into my bed. It was only natural for me to wake up the next day feeling bad. We had actually kissed in a way that we weren't supposed to kiss, and the fact that she had practically run away from me was clearly showing that it was a wrong thing to do. I didn't know how we were going to face each other. We could call the whole thing an accident and just move on, but it was not an accident in actual fact. We had deliberately caused it to happen, no doubt about that. I actually kissed my mother and she knew that I kissed her in a way that I wasn't supposed to kiss her. The fact that she practically ran away from me was clearly showing that it was wrong of me to kiss her, that she knew it was wrong, and she put a stop to it before it could go anywhere. Of course, we took the easy way out. We pretended that nothing had happened. How could anything have happened? She is my mother and I am her son. Nothing could have happened. The guilt and a little bit of shame was for naught. I learned soon enough that human mind has a way of getting rid of the guilt by justifying the cause as unavoidable. We had an intimate evening and it was only natural to feel that close to kiss like that. Besides, it was dark and we couldn't see clearly. Once the guilt was gone and the justification was accepted, it wasn't too difficult to see her in a new light. I started to see my mother in a new light. I started to see her in ways that I hadn't seen before. I noticed that she looked quite good in worn out clothes than she did in fancy dresses. Her faded jeans made her look better than her skirts. She seemed more attractive in a T-shirt than in a blouse. She looked more attractive with her hair tied into a ponytail than if she had come from a hair salon. The key point here is that she actually started to look attractive to me—as a woman. I started to take an active interest in the way my mother looked; started to check her out as I would check another girl, discretely, of course; started to find pleasure in observing her and her shape and her features. She started to look more and more attractive every day and I started to feel aroused quite often. There was some change on her part as well. I realized that she had become more jovial. She smiled a little more, moved with some additional rhythm, and I even found her humming a tune or two. Definitely, there was something noticeable in her behavior after our night of fun together. Even though she had pushed me away and stopped whatever it was, still there was increased friendliness between the two of us. There was a new found closeness, both spiritual and physical, between us. She looked good to me and I even told her on occasion or two that she looked very nice. She returned the compliment once or twice, reassuring me that what was happening between us was mutual. At least I thought it to be so, and I found myself thinking of her almost all the time. I even bought some chocolates for her one day, just as an impulse thing. I made use of every opportunity that I got to look at her breasts. She had such nice, large, and quite beautiful breasts that I just couldn't help but admire them. It may have had something to do with the fact that those breasts were once my very own, but they were very nice. I don't know if she noticed my attention, but if she did, she accepted it and went with it. I also checked her backside whenever she faced away from me. She had very nice behind. Her ass was quite shapely, a bit full, and definitely sexy. She carried it well. Her walk had such a delicious sway, I found myself mesmerized by it, quite often. I got a chance to take a good look, I mean a full look, at her mouth one day. She was doing something with her eyes focused somewhere in such a way that she couldn't see me looking at her. I saw her face, her cheeks, her lips, and her chin with admiration. I noticed that my mother has one of those chiseled lips that, on their own, come across very sexy. They looked very kissable. It only enhanced my thoughts of our kisses because I realized that during our goodnight kisses, it were those lips that touched mine. The thought was mouthwatering. I also noticed that she was very charming. There were a lot of things that she did that just overwhelmed me. The way she pouted when something went wrong in the kitchen; the way she frowned when the phone rang when she was busy with something; the way she smiled when she saw something nice outside in the garden. I was actually finding her to be a very lovely woman; a very beautiful woman. Mother Son Chance Happening The more interest I took in her, the more smitten I became. That's the only word that I can find to properly describe my condition. I didn't know, though, how she was feeling or what she was feeling. It was inevitable that my father would go out of town again, and it seems she was waiting for that opening. This time she rented a movie for us to watch and I agreed. We ordered food from a restaurant and had a nice dinner together. We watched movie with me sitting on one side of the big sofa and her on the other. We watched something on TV after the movie, until we were tired from all that TV watching. There was no hurry to go to our rooms and there was no hurry to say goodnight. We only stopped when we absolutely had to. She turned the lights off in the kitchen and checked the locks, while I put away the DVD and remote controls, and turned all the electronics off. We had fun, just like the last time; maybe even more. Despite our abrupt ending last time, there was no awkwardness between us. Everything seemed nice, natural, and smooth. As we walked to the corridor together, my heart started to beat a little faster. I was hoping for another chance to kiss a little deeper than usual, a little harder than we had been doing so far. Our previous night together while my father was away, was quite intimate and our goodnight kiss had more substance than normal. I was hoping for another chance to at least experience the same depth as that night, to taste some of her saliva, may be even feel the inside of her lips. As we stopped in front of the door to my room, my heart started to beat a lot faster. My breathing became a little out of control. But, alas, she didn't give me a chance to try anything. She didn't even get too close to me. I noticed a deliberate distance between us. I felt disappointed, but I had to respect her decision to keep the intimacy to a minimum. Knowing that we weren't supposed to be intimate in any sort of way, it was actually easy to keep the lips dry and the kiss just a goodnight greeting. At least I could revel in the sweetness of our night together. At least there was more to being together, with or without the wet kiss goodnight. She went to her room and I went into mine. Everything was fine. There was nothing that had happened before and there was nothing that happened that night. It was a big relief that we made it through the evening and better part of the night without any lines being nudged, crossed, trampled, or erased. All the while we had so much fun. I felt relieved and somewhat spirited that we had gotten through our time together without her having to push me away and run. Our relationship seemed to have become more mature, with a knowing understanding of the slipup from previous similar night, and an understanding of forgiveness. About fifteen, twenty minutes later, I heard a knock on my door. "Come in," I said and she opened the door and walked in. She had changed into a nightie and only then did I realize that one reason our evening had been different was that she had her jeans and T-shirt on during our movie watching, as opposed to her nightie, which was what she normally wore when we spent time together previously. I hadn't seen her in that nightie before. It seemed new. It was hanging quite nicely on her breasts and the spaghetti straps weren't holding it up as well as her breasts were. She seemed quite voluptuous with her bare shoulders and beautiful thighs, all in my full view. "I can't sleep," she said. "I thought may be I can spend a little more time with you." She couldn't sleep, she had said, and my thoughts immediately raced to her comment that sometimes she is so horny, she can't even sleep. Could it be possible that my mother was horny at that very moment? I knew that if she was horny at that time, it was definitely because of me. That thought had an electrifying effect on me. "Yes, you can. It would be nice." I replied after a short pause. "Thanks." She seemed quite pleased. She sat on the chair that I normally use to work on my computer. She seemed a bit agitated to me, even though I couldn't put my finger on what exactly made me think that. She was looking around my room while rotating the chair this way and that with her butt. I just sat there on my bed looking at her. She wasn't looking at me. After a while she asked: "So, did you enjoy the movie." She seemed a little out of breath. "Yes, I did." I answered. I knew it was a question that had been asked and answered by both of us before, but I went ahead and asked her as well: "Did you?" She seemed out of breath each time she spoke. I had the same problem, but not to the extent that she was having. As we sat there in silence, I realized that she was looking for something more than just spending a little more time together. It was painfully obvious that whatever it was, had no starting point. I couldn't risk an obvious guess and she couldn't offer any helpful hints. I was glad, though, that she was there and I got to see her in that nightie. She really did have very nice breasts. I couldn't keep my eyes off of them. I wondered if she noticed the way I was admiring her. She had her eyes focused on the carpet, with her feet folded back under the chair. Once the silence became unbearable, she got up from the chair to look at a couple of posters on my wall; then she went to the bookcase and looked at my small collection of books. As she walked around, her movement sent some air my way and that air brought a heavenly aroma to my senses. I asked her immediately: "Is that a new perfume?" She turned to face me. There was a smile on her face that I can't quite explain the reason for it. It seemed I'd made her happy just by noticing a new perfume on her. She said: "Yes, do you like it?" Her question seemed quite natural. I answered: "Yes, it is very nice." "Thanks." She replied. She came closer to me, which I am sure was an effort to let me smell her perfume a little better. She came closer to my nightstand with my lamp shining more light on her. That's when I noticed a hint of makeup on her. It dawned on me then that she had gone to her room to prepare herself to come to my room. She had actually planned to come to my room and had spent time fixing herself up before she came. She had, consciously or unconsciously, tried to make herself look better, obviously for me. The thought was very arousing. Something was happening between us. I knew for sure there was something significant happening between us. I could have leaned over to smell her perfume more closely and that may have triggered something, but it didn't dawn on me until she had moved away from the nightstand. I missed an opportunity that I believe, in hindsight, she had provided. I then decided that I had to get up from the bed and make myself more accessible to her, I just had to. I knew that if I did, something was bound to happen. I needed an excuse to get up and get off the bed. Then we would be closer to each other physically, and who knows what could happen. Only excuse that I could use was to go to my bathroom to see something. I was only pretending to be looking for something. When I came out, I found her sitting on the chair again waiting for me to come back. The way she was sitting seemed quite provocative. She was sitting at the edge of the chair, her hands holding the front of the chair on the outside of her thighs, her legs extended straight out, and her body leaning forward a little. Her nightie was slightly above her knees, showing part of her thighs, and the thighs looked quite nice. I had to pass by her to go to my closet, and I swear I felt her feet move in anticipation of something as I stepped over them. I wondered if she was looking for a touch. She looked quite sexy and I felt like touching her. I came closer to where she was sitting and sat on the bed at the point which was closest to her chair. We were practically sitting fact to face, with very little distance between us. Her feet were so close to my feet, so as to touch them. We sat there, quietly, with nothing to say. What could we say? The air was romantic, but we couldn't romance each other. I couldn't reach over and hold her hand. She couldn't get up and sit on the bed next to me. We had this lock on our movements, making us sit there, frozen like two statues, hoping for some breakthrough. The only thing that could happen was for her to say: "Well, I better go." I didn't want her to go and I was sure she didn't really want to go either. But there was something, a small voice somewhere, that was urging us to end our time together. The air was thick with anticipation. She only said that she better go, but she didn't actually make any move to get up. I realized then that she had given me a slight opening; a teensy, weensy opening. I was actually afraid of her response when I blurted out: "Why? Why do you have to go?" I was afraid that maybe her opening was a subconscious one and she may not be able to catch my drift. I didn't want the usual response that she was tired, or that it was late. I wanted her to say that she wanted to go because she was afraid something may happen if she stayed. I didn't really know what it was that may happen if she stayed. I know she could say it, even if she felt it. The taboo between us was so strong that even then, sitting there like that, I could only think of a kiss. Although, the erection that I was supporting at that moment could speak volumes about what may happen. I was horny! There I said it. I knew that she was feeling something similar. We were sitting so close to each other that we could feel each other's body heat, but there was no way on this earth for us to actually acknowledge our condition, or to hint about it, or to actually do something about it. She took a long time to answer. She was staring at her feet when she whispered: "I don't know." I think that was probably the best answer possible under the circumstances. It said a lot, without using too many words. I also whispered when I said: "There is no one here but us." It was just a casual comment but under the circumstances it also said a lot. Her response was quick and spontaneous, but I don't think she actually meant much by it. She said: "What should we do then if I stay?" I had a million ideas, but none that I could actually vocalize. "Anything!" I answered. We sat there, quietly, for a while, doing nothing. That was all that we could do, sit there in silence, just thinking of the possible things we could actually do, without being able to do any of them. Eventually the silence became unbearable. She couldn't sit still any longer. She got up abruptly. I was startled by the suddenness of her getting up. I also got up with her, which brought us both face to face, standing in front of each other. We both stood very close to each other. We stood there facing each other, listening to the house making slight noises. She made the first move as I guess she was more prepared for it than me. She moved a little forward and gave me a hug. I wasn't really expecting it; therefore, I wasn't really ready for it. She placed her arms around me and quickly pressed herself against me. I didn't respond to it in a way that I was supposed to. I was actually quite clumsy and awkward as I tried to hold her in my arms as a response to her hug, but before I could get there, she quickly released me and as quickly left. I could feel her pent-up emotions. I hoped that she had felt mine as well. We had all the signs but we had the ultimate restriction on our moves. We could only do what was allowed by our relationship; in this case, just a simple hug; previously, just a simple kiss. It was just a hug, but her breasts left two warm, soft, and quite delicate marks burning on my chest. I was feeling very sweet all over for a long time after that. It was definite that there was something going on and it was clear that we were both participating in it. The only problem was that we could only take it as far as a slight holding of the lips and a hug. I couldn't rub my hands on her back as I'd wanted to. I couldn't kiss her full on the mouth. I couldn't deliberately touch her breasts. I wanted to, but I couldn't. I wondered if she had similar feelings, and it was obvious that she must have. She probably had even more restrictions on her feelings than I had on mine. I was a male after all, and as a male, it was not unusual to have some sexual feelings for one's mother. But as a mother, it definitely was unusual for her to have sexual feeling for me. No doubt, though, there were sexual feelings between us. I decided to make a conscious effort to increase our physical contact in the days to come. Our that night together introduced much more familiarity between us. Our next late night get-together felt better than ever. We were at a lot more ease with each other, even being a little playful at times. There was definitely some sort of breakthrough, even though there was still some distance that we were supposed to maintain. The following night when she said she better go, I got up with her to go myself. I didn't feel like staying behind. There was a new routine set for us and I wanted to make the most of it. We turned the lights off, checked the doors and then made our way to the corridor. When we were in front of my room, I paused to say goodnight to her. When she realized that I had stopped in the middle of the corridor, she looked towards the far end which turns and leads to her bedroom. I could tell that she was trying to see if anyone was there, which obviously meant that she was trying to make sure my father wasn't there looking at us. She then pushed me towards my door. She clearly didn't want to say goodnight in the hallway. That was quite thrilling in itself. She had to lean into me to make sure we were both out of sight of anyone in the corridor. This inadvertently made her press against me with her body. I wanted to put my arms around her so as to hold her but I couldn't. I wasn't allowed to hug her that way. She pushed herself up to reach my lips, causing herself to rub her breasts on my chest, again inadvertently, and gave me a kiss. It was a wet kiss. We both had wet our lips without really worrying about the other objecting to it. There was a little pressure as well. Our routine had changed from a plain goodnight kiss to a goodnight kiss with a hug. Our goodnight kiss had changed from a dry peck to touching of wet lips with slight pressure. Her breasts felt nice on my chest, and there was an added thrill of the possibility of getting caught. We were doing something that we were not supposed to do and we could very well get caught doing it. It was exciting, in more ways than one. The fact that she was trying to avoid getting caught spoke volumes about her participation in the whole escapade. It wasn't one sided. The fact that she wanted to kiss and hug me in secret, meant that in her mind there was something scandalous about our being there like that. The fact that she wanted to kiss me and may be even hug me still, despite the fact that she considered it scandalous, meant she was doing something she wasn't supposed to be doing; that meant she was doing something that a mother and son are not supposed to do, but something that she definitely wanted to do with me. I was horny. I am assuming she was horny as well. I enjoyed her body against mine. I assumed she enjoyed her body against mine as well. But, and that's where we had a big problem, we could only go that far. I couldn't reach over and touch her with desire. She couldn't show desire for me. Even though all the signs pointed to that direction, we had to pretend that that direction didn't exist. She stood in front of me for a brief moment, thinking. Then she held my hands into hers and squeezed them slightly before leaving. I stood there watching her as she turned around the corner. I felt the intensity of her emotions. I felt bad for not showing her the intensity of mine. I was holding back a lot more than she was. No doubt, once again, there was something going on between the two of us. Her holding of my hands and squeezing them was quite sensuous. I wished I had kissed her a little differently, but she was gone and it stayed only a wish. I was very aroused. I promised myself to do better next time. Next night, I didn't go to the TV room. I wanted to see if she would come to me. I wanted to see if she would come for another physical contact like the one the other night. I left the door open slightly, as a hint that I was expecting her. I heard the TV in the living room and I felt quite disappointed. Even upset. She was watching TV while I wasn't there. Maybe she was waiting for me to come there. But I was waiting for her to come to my room. I felt very bad for wanting that and I felt very bad because it didn't happen. It couldn't have happened. It was too early in the night. I soon came to the realization that I was expecting too much. It couldn't be that easy. She wasn't just a woman that I had become so smitten with, she was my mother. She couldn't do the obvious, and play by the normal rules. She did let her guard down a bit before, but she was in no position to go any further. It took me a while to calm down, but calm down I did, and then went to the TV room. She asked me: "Are you okay?" She was looking at me inquisitively, trying to read my face. But I was finally in control of my emotions, and all was well, all was normal, as it was meant to be. It was very clear that I wanted my mother. I wanted her badly. It was also very clear that I was in a dangerous territory. The very thing that I wanted, I just couldn't have it. I just couldn't. What was even more intriguing, I wanted my mother to want me! I wanted her to have the same strong feelings for me that I had for her; which she probably couldn't. Actually she could, and I am sure she did, but she couldn't express them. That was our dilemma. We couldn't express our feelings, even though we had them. I wanted to know what was going through her mind. I wanted to know what she was thinking. I had very strong inkling, but it was only guesswork. I wanted to know for sure; from her. There was no way to get that from her, so we both watched TV, as usual. I did wonder if she was also looking for a hint or two from me. But, even that was just a guess and nothing tangible. I left with her this time as well. We stood in front of my room and this time I moved into the door and out of the hallway, so that she didn't have to push me as before. My body was tense as she moved closer to me. I didn't know what I wanted because I didn't know what I could have had. One thing, though, I was sure that I wanted more than before. I was very erect and extremely aroused. I noticed that she was wearing her new perfume that I had commented about to her. I could smell it better this time because she was closer to me than the other night, and the smell aroused my senses even further. "You smell very nice!" I whispered, as I wetted my lips. That part had become a norm for us, or should I say that we had moved past that. The wet lips made the goodnight kiss even better and since there was no objection to it so far, I decided to make it integral part of the routine. I also decided to make the hug a bit more intimate. It was she who had started the hug, so it was okay for me to make it a little more meaningful hug. Her breasts felt sensational on my chest as I put my arms around her. I was afraid that she would pull back, but she didn't. I noticed that her lips were also wet, so my upper lip slid between hers and her lower lips slid between mine. I tugged slightly on her lip as I held her. She squirmed a little but she didn't push me away or pull herself back. When she squirmed, her body jerked a little and I adjusted myself to accommodate her movement. When we settled again against each other, I found my erection pressing into her.