48 comments/ 104081 views/ 80 favorites Loving Jason By: shaide87 Okay, someone asked me for a mother/son story, so here you go. I can tell you right now, I have no plans for continuing this one. I liked writing it, but it would take something major to make me continue it. I like how it ended, and I don't really want to mess with that. Unless the reviews are just that awesome. Please vote and leave me comments. I love comments. They are good for my self-esteem. Every time you don't leave a comment, a puppy cries. And it's a cute puppy. Really cute. Why don't you like puppies? -Shaide I was 26 years old when I realized I didn't love my husband. It's a horrible thing to say, but it was true. After 3 years of dating and 2 years of marriage, I had the sudden epiphany that this man was not my soul mate; he wasn't even my equal. That day, at 26 years old, at 3:18 am, my son was born. And his father fainted. I liked my husband, once upon a time, but I never loved him. I was only ever infatuated with him, but that wore off a long time ago. You would think a psychologist would be better at knowing the difference between love and infatuation, but the worst thing any doctor can do is try to diagnose themselves. We usually try to make our own problems or issues fit who we believe we are as a person. Medical doctors can't be sick; they cure sickness so it is impossible that they themselves could ever suffer from sickness. Psychologists have perfect mentalities. We have studied the mind. We help people figure out and move beyond their own psychosis. So how could we have any mental issues ourselves? That's the very reason we see other psychologists. It's easy to take on the problems of those around you. And in this industry, we are surrounded by problems. It's like the Walmart of mental issues, buy two and you get a discount. But at 26 years old, when it was too late for me to do anything about it, as I held my son in my hands, I was finally able to admit that I didn't, had never, loved this man who was now able to claim the paternity of my one and only child. The only child I would ever have. There were "complications" with my son's birth. I had actually died for a few minutes. Apparently, my heart wasn't strong enough to bear children. I never should have been allowed to have a child. But I did. And it was the most joyous moment of my life. The moment I held him in my arms, I knew that I would destroy the world, the very universe, before I let anyone harm one little hair on his head. My son. My beautiful, beautiful son. And Ben, my husband, had the nerve to name him Calbert. I had it changed the very next day, but that was my trigger. The nurse came into my room holding my son. She handed me "little Calbert" and, laughing, told me about my husband fainting during the delivery. I waited until she left before I turned my wrath on him. "CALBERT! YOU NAMED HIM CALBERT!" I was whisper yelling. I never liked the idea of the outside world knowing what went on in my life. I have always been a fan of privacy. "I... I..." "THAT IS NOT THE NAME WE AGREED ON!" "Honey..." "I WILL fix this. And if I ever hear you call him that..." Ben was a narcissist. He was all about him, him, and some more of him. He was a blustering, blabbering, blatant idiot. As I think back on it, I'm surprised I never had an affair. In college, it made him seem dominant and take charge. He was a frat boy football player, all the girls wanted him, and he chose me. That was a very special feeling. He was sexy then. He had washboard abs, big muscles, and seemed like he was smart and witty. Then he dropped out. He said there were too many opportunities and going to college was only holding him back. He was a rebel. I found out, far too late, that he had been kicked out for failing grades. He became a security guard. And that is the end of his story. He was never promoted. Never made a supervisor. Never moved on. Never anything. To this day he is still nothing but a lowly, low-level, security guard. Still, I stood by my man. I stayed with him, even as I moved on to bigger and better things. I had accepted internships, earned my masters, my doctorate, was accepted into one of the most revered practices in the state, and was well on my way to becoming a partner in a firm that catered to the rich. I became the bread winner for our little family. Millionaires told me their deepest, darkest secrets on a daily basis. I knew that the vice-president of a major oil company was raped as a young boy by his uncle. I knew he was getting ready for a hostile takeover of a smaller oil company, and I knew exactly what that would do for his company's stock. Yes, it's insider trading. I didn't care. I bought as much of that stock as I could and made a hefty profit. And it wasn't the last time I did it. Yet, somehow, I came home every day for years to hear about how important his day was. How he talked to some IT guy, how he bullied some truck driver, how his boss thought so "highly" of him. Yet, he was passed up for every promotion. I should have noticed it. He never talked about anything he did wrong. All the times he pissed his manager off, or why someone else was promoted instead of him. As far as he was concerned, he had made it. He had an expensive car, the BMW I bought for him, a house bigger than his bosses, that I had bought, and a sexy wife he could fuck anytime he wanted to. I worked out 4 times a week. If I had been paying attention, I would have seen it. I was distancing myself from him, using my money to place a barrier between us. He bragged and bragged, reliving his college and high school days anytime someone would listen to him. Meanwhile, I was climbing the corporate ladder. From a secretary to an assistant to a doctor to a future partner. I went from setting appointments for rich brats to having their parents fighting over appointment times for me. It was a very gratifying feeling, having millionaires arguing over who got to talk to me when. But the moment I held Andrew in my arms changed my world. I finally knew what love was. I would cross oceans and move mountains for this little boy. I would defy God himself. And I knew that what I felt for my husband didn't even begin to compare. Andrew was a prodigy. I know every mother thinks that their child is special, but Andrew truly was. He was beginning to talk at three months old, saying Mama every time he saw me, and walking by six months. He absolutely loved my computer, pushing buttons and watching things appear on the screen. His sorry excuse for a father was jealous of him. After the "Calbert" incident, which was never spoken of again, I rarely let him anywhere near my son without me being near. Honestly, have you ever heard of a more ridiculous name! How could I allow a man who would do that to a child anywhere near my son? Only the fact that we were married without a pre-nup kept him in the house. That and the fact that a child without his father in his life doesn't fare as well as his counterparts. I was a psychologist, I had seen all kinds of father issues lay down on my couch. My son would not be one of them. At two years old, he was able to spell his name and I enrolled him in all kinds of advanced reading and writing programs. Still, his attention was always caught up anytime a computer came on. One day his father carelessly left a screwdriver out and I came home from grocery shopping to find Andrew working away at my desktop computer. I ran and grabbed my camera. The look of concentration on his little face was so cute. Not that I had all my senses swept away in a river of cute. That was still my work computer with all of my data. Ben slept on the couch for a month. I had always heard of stories about kids with toasters, but a desktop computer?! I'll give you, he wasn't delicate about it. Anything he couldn't unscrew was torn apart or beaten on the floor until it broke. But what three year old is taking apart his mother's computer? Either way, I learned the value of having something cheap and mechanical around the house that he could play with. Ben started complaining about our non-existent sex life, so I started fucking him again. Honestly, I was starting to feel the itch myself and vibrators just weren't cutting it, and I was still worried about his leaving with half of my hard earned life. So we started fucking again, but it was never like before. I didn't pretend for him anymore. He would mount me, rut for a few minutes, pop, and roll off with a smile on his face. I still wasn't satisfied, but I had my son and my money and the ability to provide him the life I felt he deserved. When Andrew was eight, I started to pay more attention to his personality. He wasn't making very many friends. His teachers never complained about him or anything, but he never came home from school talking about any of his classmates. So I talked to his teachers. "Nothing is wrong Mrs. Davon. Andrew just hasn't bloomed yet. He's not an outgoing type of boy, but eventually the other children will warm up to him." "But will he even know what to do then? It seems like he's missing a lot of experiences a child should have." "Parents often make more of that than is really necessary. He talks to the other children, but he just doesn't get too close to them. His interests are just on things they aren't ready for yet." That was true. I didn't like it, but reality was reality. Andrew was just too advanced for them. And he wouldn't pretend to be interested in something he wasn't. So, I had Andrew enrolled in programming and computer building classes. It's where his interests were and it would be a great foundation for his future. The world was moving towards robots and space travel and my Andrew would one day be leading the way. Still, he was nothing like his father, and for that I was grateful. He was quiet, easy-going. Nothing ever seemed to disturb him. Ben, on the other hand, had started drinking. When he drank, he got loud. Angry. He never hit me though, he wouldn't dare. But he screamed and railed. Andrew, like his mother, mostly ignored his father. The loud drunk eventually realized he wasn't going to get his way, so he became the quiet drunk. Ben would sit in the den, drinking expensive scotch, reminiscing on "the good ol' days." He had gotten fat over the last few years. He never worked out, his eating habits were horrible. Sometimes I think he abused himself because he knew better than to try that with me. When Andrew was ten, I walk outside to find him sketching a bird that was sitting on a tree branch in the back yard. It was absolutely wonderful. It was no masterpiece, mind you, but it showed such potential. I thought to myself, "Is there nothing my son can't do?" I immediately enrolled him in art classes. He loved it. By that point, I was spending over $2000 a month just on his extra programs. I had stopped having sex with Ben again. I just couldn't take having that fat slob of a man on top of me anymore. And I had pretty much cut him off from my bank accounts. It was very easy to see that Andrew and I lived one life, a very content life, and his father lived another. I had a "man cave" built as an addition to the house and Ben quite naturally migrated there. Andrew and I lived in the rest of the house. He was such a mama's boy. Not that I ever complained though. I absolutely loved that he seemed to take an interest in anything I did. If I was lying on the couch reading, he would go to his room, grab a book, and lie on the floor to read with me. When I was cooking, he would do his homework in the kitchen. If I was by the pool, he would find all kinds of reasons to be outside with me. Still, as much as I enjoyed my son's company, a woman has needs. And, being the good wife I was, I kept to my vows. I never strayed from my husband. Every few months I would think that maybe, maybe, this one time, Ben would please me. I was always wrong. And every time seemed to be worse than the last. He would cum after only a minute of actual intercourse, or while I was sucking on him trying to get him hard. Once he came just from me jacking him for a few strokes. And every time, as soon as he came, that would be the end of it. He would roll over and go to sleep. Not once did he ever even offer to lick on me, or finger me. Nothing! I was horny, desperate. There were times I thought that this was his way of punishing me for something. But that would have been far too complicated for him. He was just pathetic. Needless to say though, my toy collection grew to a point that it rivaled Andrew's. Ben actually complained one night. "Why do you have all these damn sex toys?" I was astonished. "You actually have the nerve to ask me that? Wow." "If you need sex, I'm right here." "Really. Right there? I know you're right there, you fucking idiot. There's so much of you, how could I ever miss you?" "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" "It means you're a fat fucking slob that couldn't please a real woman except in his fucking dreams, and probably not even then." I was actually calm the whole time. It was just so freeing to finally give voice to these complaints after all this time. "Karen!" "Fuck off, Ben. You haven't pleased me in years. Hell, I can't remember the last time I orgasmed without one of my toys." "I'm your husband! If you put a little more effort..." "Fuck off," I interrupted him. His yelling was annoying. "If you're such a husband, make me cum. Right now. Drop drawers and make it happen, then we can talk about my 'effort.' Otherwise..." I left it hanging. Something about Ben always made him imagine consequences to be so horrible. That was the last time he ever brought up that subject. He was a narcissist. I was a psychologist. I knew I was doing the very worst thing I could to him. I was destroying is deluded sense of self, and I liked it. Only a mother can understand this, but, when you have a child, you measure time by your child's age, that's the only thing that really matters to you. The fact that your child is still drawing breath. At twelve years old, Andrew had his own credit card. His computer hobby had meta-morphed into something far beyond my control. He was ordering parts and pieces with complicated names that had a purpose I couldn't even begin to guess at. The guest bedroom somehow became his IT department. One of the bonuses was that we had the fastest internet in the neighborhood. But when his report card came in, I noticed something was wrong. It took me a few minutes, but I went into my office and pulled out the last one and compared them. Andrew was a skinny boy, well on his way to being a geek. But somehow, and quite suddenly, his gym grade went from a C to an A, for grading periods that had already ended. So had his history grades. I had my suspicions, but I didn't say anything. If a twelve year old could hack the school system, well then good for him. Still, I refused to have a scrawny son. It didn't take anything more than inviting him to the gym with me to start him to working out. That Mother's day Andrew gave me a portrait of myself that he had painted. It was beautiful, masterful. His father showed no appreciation, but that didn't matter to either of us. I hung the portrait in my office at work, everyone admired it. No one believed my twelve year old son had done it. Honestly, there was no limit to the pride I felt for Andrew. I made partner when he was 13. As a gift, one of the senior partners gave me a pair of tickets to a play that was being performed at the local theater. My "husband" refused to go, not that I was surprised. He didn't leave the house for anything but work anymore. He couldn't even pry himself out of his recliner to attend the dinner the partners hosted for me to announce my promotion. My son saw the tickets and asked if he could go with me. Since he had begun to work out, Andrew had developed a small streak of vanity. He paid more attention to his appearance, how he dressed, and absolutely loved any excuse to put on a suit. So my son escorted me to the theater that night. It had been a long time since I had seen live theater, but I ended up purchasing season tickets. Surprisingly, Andrew was enchanted with it. I asked him if he wanted to take acting classes but he declined. "It wouldn't be as good if I knew how it worked. Life should have some mysteries." I almost cried when he said that. My little boy was growing up. We went to the theater at least two times a month to see the latest shows. And we always went backstage to meet the actors. It was during that first show that I found out how shy my Andrew was. The actress who played the lead was gorgeous. She was a petite little thing, but she was well proportioned, and had the face of an angel. She was the type of beauty that made older women realize how cruel a master Time could be. There wasn't a wrinkle on her, her smile was pure and warming, her eyes bright with hope and youth. I was mature enough to admit that I was jealous of her. Andrew, my sweet little boy, was enchanted. He couldn't even speak when she came by to talk to us. The young actress and I both thought it was so cute, charming even. She kissed him on the cheek and his blush covered his whole face. When Andrew turned 16, I bought him his first car. His father had actually emerged from his little hole to try to convince him to get a muscle car, but Andrew scoffed at the idea. "What would be the point of that? It would be loud, old, and ineffient." A lot like Ben, I thought to myself. Instead, Andrew had gotten a Jaguar. It was an interesting driveway. My Mercedes, Andrew's Jag, and Ben's BMW. Only two of the cars still looked like luxury vehicles though. Ben's BMW was old, dirty, and beat to hell. It looked like something that should have been taken out back and shot years ago, again, just like him. That was also the first time I had gotten a check in the mail that didn't have my name on it. It had Andrew's. What the hell did my son do to have someone send him a check for $8000? "Andrew, what's this," I asked as I walked into his room and handed him the check. He turned away from his computer. Although calling it a computer would be like calling a paper airplane a spaceship. The thing was a command center. It had three different keyboards and 8 screens. He took the check from me, "About time. It's for some work I did a few weeks ago." "What did you do?" "I solved their security problem. Can you put this into my account?" I walked over and kissed him on the forehead. "Of course honey." That was the first of many checks that I put into his account. And it was the smallest amount that I had ever seen him receive. In six months, Andrew was making ten times the money his father was. Still, with an expensive car, lots of cash, and a charming wit, he was always home on Saturday nights. I couldn't understand why? He was charming, polite, smart, sophisticated. Working out with me had given him a wonderful build. He was full of strong, lean muscle. He reminded me of the water boy at the office. God, I liked that water boy. If I wasn't a married woman... His senior year, when he was 17, the acceptance letters started coming. He didn't even send out applications. The schools knew who he was. Recruiters came from all over the country to talk to my son. His father attempted to make a reappearance but I shut that down. Andrew eventually accepted an offer to attend school with our own state university. It was only an hour's drive away, so he could stay at home and attend. It was still a prestigious school, but I felt like it was beneath him. "Mom, I can't cook, I can't wash clothes, I wouldn't have space for my things. What would I do if I had to live out there?" He was right. He had tried washing clothes once. For our maid's birthday, he tried to do all her work for her before she came over. He had ruined $1500 worth of clothes. Somehow, he felt that if bleach was good for whites, it was good for everything. I shuddered at the thought of him cooking anything. I think he tried once, but I've repressed that memory, and it's probably for the best that I keep it repressed. Loving Jason Still, though, at 19 years old, I had never seen my son with a girl. Or even a guy for that matter. I would have been fine if he was gay. A little disappointed about my hopes for grandchildren, but he could always adopt. Hell, I had never seen him with a friend. There were people that came by the house to speak with him, but I always got the distinct impression that those were more customers than friends. But the fact that he wasn't showing any sexual interest was starting to disturb me. Then again, my own sexual interests had been relegated to all things battery powered for the last few years. But this wasn't about me, it was about my son. So I decided to do what any loving mother would do, I snooped. Or I attempted to. I took a day off from work, and thirty minutes after he left I walked into his room. "Hello Mrs. Davon." I jumped out of my skin at the female voice that came out of nowhere. The television and all his computer monitors suddenly came on. There was a pretty woman with a silver face and short black hair looking at me. I moved and her eyes followed me. All of them, from different angles. "How may I help you, Mrs. Davon?" "What are you?" "I am Virtue." Somehow she seemed familiar. Something about her face and her voice, but I couldn't place it. "But what are you?" "An assistant program created by Andrew Davon." "How did you know who I was?" "I have access to facial recognition software as part of my programming." "But you knew when I came in?" "There is a camera on the wall there." She pointed straight to it. As impressed as I was, I was also a little scared to think of how easily she was able to communicate with me. How lifelike she was. And I still couldn't get past the idea that I knew her somehow. "Is there something I can assist you with, Mrs. Davon?" "I was looking for Andrew," I lied. Do you have any idea how ridiculous I felt, lying to my son's computer? "According to his schedule, he is on his way to Advanced Language Theory right now and he has two other classes scheduled today. He won't be home for approximately 5 hours and 18 minutes if current traffic patterns hold." Wow. "Okay, I'll see him then." "Would you like me set an appointment for that in his reminders?" "No, but thank you." "Very well, Mrs. Davon. Is there anything else I can help you with?" "No, that will be all," I said as I left the room. I had the distinct feeling that I wouldn't be doing any snooping while "Virtue" was around. I was lying on the couch reading the latest issue of a mental health journal when Andrew came home. "What is virtue," I asked him as he sat his book bag down. "Is this a philosophical question, because I haven't taken that course yet?" "No. In your room. Virtue." "Oh, she's my assistant program. Did something go wrong with her?" He was so honest! I loved that about my son. He never tried to hide anything from me. "No, I was going to take you out to breakfast this morning and hadn't realized I had missed you. She surprised me is all. I didn't know I wasn't the only woman of the house anymore." He laughed. "You're still the only woman of the house. Virtue just helps keep my schedule straight, plus she's really cool, don't you think?" "Did you download it from somewhere?" "No," he said, sounding almost offended. "I made her. She's very sophisticated. She's tied into my phone and my computer system. She has facial and voice recognition, full internet access, and can do pretty much anything, virtually speaking. Do you want me to make you one?" "No thanks, honey. I was just very impressed." I let it go at that as I turned my attention back to the journal, but the idea that I recognized that woman from somewhere was still bouncing around in my mind. It may be a horrible thing to say, but by that point in time, both my son and I had gotten use to completely ignoring my husband. He no longer had a place at the dinner table, was never consulted about anything, and we never worried about his comings or goings. We didn't even sleep together anymore. I'm not sure where he slept actually. I don't know if he used one of the guest bedrooms or just drunkenly fell off in his recliner each night. I didn't care. He didn't bring anything to the table in our relationship anymore. He didn't make any money, his looks were totally destroyed by years of alcohol, and I had long ago learned to satisfy any sexual needs I had. For some reason though, I still never cheated on him. Even though whatever might have been between us had died years ago, he was still my son's father. As worthless as he was, my son could still say he knew him and that was worth something. Not much, but something. When Andrew was 19 he was a junior in college. I knew for a fact that he hadn't taken all the courses that were listed on his transcript though. He was hacking again. Still, I didn't say anything. I came home early one day to find a strange car parked behind his Jag. I entered the house quietly, figuring he had another "customer" over. Andrew never told me what he was doing for all the people that came over. But he kept getting thousands of dollars in the mail, and I knew if he started talking computer with me I wouldn't get past the first three words, so I let it be. Still, a mother has the right to know what her son is doing. I took off my heels and crept back towards his room. The door was wide open, he wasn't expecting me home for two more hours. I peeked around the doorway and was absolutely shocked at what I saw. My son was sitting at his desk, his pants down around his ankles, and had a woman on her knees between his legs. I couldn't see much of her except that she was wearing a finely cut business suit and had long black hair just like mine. Her face bobbed up and down in my son's lap as he laid back with his hand wrapped in her hair. She moved like a pro, taking him all the way to the base, and proof of her skills could easily be seen on my son's face as he moaned his pleasure. When she pulled off him to catch her I had the proof that my little boy wasn't little anymore. He was twice the man his father had ever been. He was long and thick and was making this girl work for it to take him all the way down. Still she persevered. Up and down her head bobbed. Up and down, up and down. I could see her throat working him every time she hit bottom. I surprised myself when I found my own hand inside my panties. I couldn't do this. I couldn't stand outside my son's room, watching this girl suck his cock, fingering myself. But I couldn't stop. And I couldn't turn away. My panties were soaked with my own juices, something that hadn't happened in years. And as hard as I tried, I couldn't stop my fingers from moving inside me, I could barely keep myself from moaning. My eyes were glued to the scene that was going on in front of me. She came up for air again and I got another view of my son's glistening cock standing tall and erect. Strong. Hard. God, what was wrong with me?! I should have been stopping this or walking away or something, I don't know. But I did know that the one thing I shouldn't have done was start fingering myself harder! Just the sight of his dick, standing there in the air so firm and proud made me even hotter. Her mouth dropped back on him, pumping him faster and faster as her hand played with his balls. I fell to my knees as my orgasm washed through my body. I almost bit through my own lips trying not to scream out, and, somehow, they didn't hear me. Still, I couldn't leave though. My hand stayed in my pussy, lightly circling my clit. Then I saw his body tense up as he grabbed the back of her head and shoved his cock into her mouth. He shot his load down her throat and she swallowed it, all of it. And I sat there, on my knees, licking my lips in envy. "How was that," she asked. He turned and typed on his keyboard. "That's one A." "And here's $2000. You would think I would get a discount after that." "If you want a discount, find someone else to change your grades for you." She sighed, "How much longer do we have?" "About thirty minutes." "Lets see if I can get another A then." She grabbed his softening dick and sucked it into her mouth. Somehow his release had released me. I quietly stood up and walked back to the front door. Grabbing my heels off the floor, I quietly closed and locked the door and made my way back to the car. I drove around for two hours, still refusing to accept what I had just witnessed, what I had just done! I drove down any and every street, not really going anywhere, turning here and there just to give my hands something to do. The feel of my pussy soaked panties rubbing against my skin disturbed me. The smell of myself on my fingers terrified me. But the realization that thinking of my son's cock was making me wet again... When I got home, I pretended nothing had happened. After all, how do I tell my son that I didn't approve of him hacking girls grades in exchange for money AND sexual favors? "Honey, mommy was watching you get your cock sucked today, and while I was fingering my cunt outside your door, I don't think you should be doing that." Yes, that conversation would go great. It was an awkward night. Every time I looked at him, I found that I wasn't looking at my little boy anymore. I was looking at this handsome man that was sitting on my couch. His clothes didn't scream "money", but he was stylish. His muscles showed in even the smallest of his movements, he walked with a quiet grace. As smart as he was, when he spoke, he never tried to outshine anyone, which just showed his intelligence all the more. Every time I looked at him, I saw that girl's face in his lap, I saw his cock going in and out of her mouth. Disappearing and reappearing down her throat, her saliva glistening on his skin. "Mom, you okay?" "What?" "You've been staring at me for the last five minutes." "Oh, sorry honey, just caught up in my own mind." "Okay, well, I'm going to my room." He bent over and kissed me on the cheek, "Night Mom." "Good night, honey." I couldn't sleep. I every time I closed my eyes, I saw my son's cock. And it wasn't that girl on her knees anymore. I kept imagining myself, kneeling down in front of him, worshipping his cock. The mind is a horrible thing. As I slept, alone in the dark, I remembered every single detail. Black hair bobbing up and down, the sound of a throat working to swallow that beautiful piece of man-meat, the lines on the suit... I suddenly woke up, sitting straight up in my bed. I ran over to my closet, throwing the doors open and riffling through my wardrobe. I found it. The suit she was wearing was hanging up in my closet. She had been wearing my suit! I walked back to my bed, but had to sleep on the other side. There was a wet spot on my side. I had to fall asleep with the smell of my pussy on my hands because I refused to wash them. If I did that, then I would have to admit that I had been masturbating in my sleep to the thought of sucking my son's cock. I fell asleep sometime in the night. When I woke, I decided I wanted to send a message, but I didn't want him to know that I knew. I decided to wear that suit. It had been a while since I had worn it but it still fit me. It fit me better than it fit her. I had more breasts to fill out the jacket and top. And to make sure he noticed them, I left an extra button undone. The suit pants made my ass look deliciously grabbable when I paired them with my black heels. Instead of putting my hair in my usual bun, I let it hang down past my shoulders. When Andrew saw me, he choked on his cereal. "Morning honey," I smiled at him as I walked over to the coffee machine. He beat on his chest as he regained his composure. "Morning mom. You look great today." "Thank you, sweetheart!" I smiled into my coffee as I noticed his eyes roving over my body. I opened the refrigerator and bent over at the hip. I wasn't looking for anything, I just wanted him to get a good look at my ass. As I stood up and looked over at him, he quickly turned his head back to his cereal. His blush began to spread as he knew he had been caught. I smiled to myself, he was still my shy little boy. I bent over and kissed him on his forehead, his eyes were locked onto my cleavage. "I'll see you tonight, sweetie." I picked up the briefcase and walked out the door. On my way to work I chastised myself. I shouldn't have been teasing him. I should have been trying to find a way to help him turn his attention to a more attainable female. I was a married woman. I was his mother. Throughout the day, I considered every woman I came across as a possible candidate for my son's affections. But I compared them all to me, and I always found them lacking in some essential way. She wasn't as pretty as me, her ass wasn't as nice as mine, she had daddy issues, she wasn't as smart as me. I found countless reasons why none of these women were right for my Andrew. At lunch time, Bernie came into my office as I was looking over a new client's case file. Bernie was a handsome 23 year old gay man with his own mother issues. He was my very own therapeutic relief. He was also great eye-candy. I know at least four of my patients that had already worked through their issues. They only came so they could look at this African Adonis that I had sitting in front of my door. He set a vase filled with beautiful tulips on my desk. "Looks like someone is having a really good day. First you come in looking all sexy, now you're getting flowers?" I opened the card and read it aloud. Bernie wouldn't leave me alone until he knew who they were from. "Just wanted you to know I love you. – Andrew." "That is such a sweet boy." He picked the flowers up and placed them underneath the portrait Andrew had painted for me years ago. "I know. I'm a very lucky woman." He spent a minute adjusting the flowers and centering the vase. I admit that I was possessive over Bernie. I knew his history. Abused by his father, he left home at 13. He started working out after being viciously bullied in school for being gay. That became a habit for him. When I found him sitting outside my office for an interview, the 18 year old was attracted to men and terrified of them at the same time. It had taken years to get him past his issues and out of his shell. Now, he was 6 months away from being a married man. Every time I was promoted, I had taken him with me. He had a way about him that put everyone around him at ease. "So what's going on today? You spice up the wardrobe, start getting flowers..." "Nothing Detective Bernie. I needed a little pick me up, I guess Andrew picked up on that this morning." "Is he seeing anyone? I've got a few friends that could use a man that intuitive." "No, not that I know of." I didn't want to think of Andrew as "dating" that little slut from the other day. "I don't think he's gay though." "Neither are they," he smiled as he walked out of my office. I sat at my desk, fondling a small heart locket Andrew had given me for my birthday, when I looked up and gasped. I was staring at the flowers beneath my portrait when suddenly I realized it. Virtue. She was me. She was my portrait in android form. I was younger then, and not so silver. But I could see it now. She was me. I was Virtue. And I was stunned. Andrew's talent and subtlety was stunning. How long had my son been watching me, attracted to me? And I was shocked to realize how pleased I was about this new discovery. As much as I would like to believe it was the pleasure of helping to solve my son's problem, I was honest enough with myself to admit that I liked his attention. It had been far too long since I was the object of a man's affection. I got home an hour earlier than usual. To be honest, I was hoping to catch another show. A powerful orgasm is like a drug addiction, and I was chasing the high. I knew it, but I still left work with a huge smile when my last appointment canceled on me. I was disappointed when I pulled up to the house and only saw my son's car in the driveway. Still, I came in quietly, slipped off my heels, and crept back to his room. I wasn't disappointed. Apparently, Andrew recorded everything that went on in his room. He was sitting at his desk, his dick in his hand, watching a video of the girl from the day before. Unlike yesterday, I wasn't surprised when I unzipped my pants and slid my hand into my panties. I was already wet. I slid two of my fingers into my cunt as I watched him stroking himself. His hand gliding along his the veins of his shaft. My shock didn't come for a few minutes. He was still stoking himself, but not very fast. He was going slowly, building it up. Then he typed something on the keyboard and another video came on beside the video of the girl. It was us. It was a video of a Christmas party from a few years ago. We inadvertently walked under a sprig of mistletoe. Every one ooo'ed at us and I was already a little drunk. I pulled him into me and gave him a light kiss on the lips. "I love you, Andrew," came from the speakers. He picked up the pace as his hand sped up and down on his cock. He changed all the screens to a view of the girl from behind. My voice was repeating through the speakers. "I love you, Andrew" over and over. From that view, it could have been me there, down on my knees, sucking his cock into my throat, telling him how much I loved him. And, as I stood there in the hallway, my fingers going in and out of my cunt, watching my son jack off, I wished it was. Suddenly, it was too much. I bit my lips, I could taste the blood on my tongue, as my orgasm rushed through my body. I wanted to scream, but I didn't dare. My fingers couldn't stop moving, the orgasms were coming one after the other, the next one starting before the last one finished. I fell down hard on my knees, still playing with my pussy. My panties were soaked, my pants ruined, the air around me reeked of pussy juice. As I looked back into the room, I saw my son leaning back in his chair, his eyes closed. My voice still sounded through the speakers, "I love you, Andrew. I love you, Andrew." His hand, still wrapped around his cock, was dripping with his cum. As I walked through the house, I realized that Ben was already sitting in his chair, half-way through a glass of scotch. I picked up my shoes and walked into my room. Stripping out of my suit, I knew I would never wear it again. It was dry-clean only and the pants were soaked in my juices. I would be too embarrassed to hand them over to Sue, the dry cleaner. I flopped down on the bed, exhausted from my own orgasms. I thought about my flowers sitting under my portrait. I thought about how I felt this morning, knowing my son was ogling my body. I thought about the orgasms I had just experienced. I thought about standing in the hallway, fingering myself to thoughts of my son as my fat, useless husband sat just around the corner. In 24 hours, my son had made me feel like more of a woman than my husband had in the last 10 years. I wasn't sick. I was a woman in need. And my son, my Andrew, needed me as well. I stood up and looked at myself in the mirror. I was 46 years old, but I took care of myself. I could have easily passed for a woman 10 or 15 years younger. My breasts weren't as perky anymore, but they didn't sag. My face had more wrinkles than I would have liked, but I was a long way from crone-hood. My stomach was nice and flat. My ass was flatter than was popular these days, but it was still firm and tight. My legs were long and lean, supple muscle lying just under the skin. I could rationalize it. I could tell myself everything that was wrong with what I was thinking. All the medical reasons, all the social consequences. I finally understood my most difficult patients now, because none of it meant anything to me. Loving Jason I wanted my son. I wanted him as a man, as a lover. I wanted to fall asleep at night, holding my son in my arms. I wanted him so much, so bad. And I could have him. I didn't have to lay alone at night anymore, wishing and wanting. I could have it. I could have a man that could stand with me as an equal. Andrew was smart, sophisticated, charming, witty. In my son I had everything I wanted in a man. I fell asleep, safe in the knowledge that this would be the last night I ever fell asleep alone. I woke up the next morning, my mind set, prepared for what I was about to do. I showered and picked out my clothes with more care than I had in years. The top was red and low cut. It showed off my cleavage to the maximum. The skirt was black and short with a deep slit so I could show plenty of leg. My earrings were bright brown stones to bring out my eyes, and matched my necklace, drawing even more attention to my breasts. I walked out of my door looking like I was made for sex. I felt like a teenage girl getting ready for her first date. But I wasn't. I was a grown woman seducing the man of my dreams. I walked into the kitchen to see Andrew halfway finished with is cereal. "Morning sweetheart," I said as I walked in. "Morning Mom. Whoa! Mom!" His mouth literally dropped. I can't begin to explain how special that made me feel. "What? Something wrong?" "No, just... Wow. You look great, Mom! Like, really sexy!" "Aww, thank you honey." I walked over and gave him a kiss on the cheek and then walked back over to the coffee machine. I changed my mind. I poured myself a glass of orange juice instead. I leaned against the counter and drank it down, quietly watching as he eyed my body. I was putting myself on display for him. He turned away just as I was finishing the glass, thinking I hadn't caught him. Silly boy, he could have looked all he wanted to. "I'm off. Oh," I said, turning back to him. "Thank you for my flowers, sweetheart," I said. I leaned over him and softly kissed him on the lips. It was just a moment longer than was strictly motherly. He would be thinking about that kiss all day, I knew I would. I walked out the door and drove my car around the block. "Oh my," Bernie said when I came in. "Down boy," I smiled at him. Following me into my office, he asked me, "So what's going on boss? Sexy yesterday, sexier today, what should I be expecting tomorrow?" I smiled at him, "Just a midlife crisis, Bernie." He laughed and walked back out to the front. I had him cancel all my appointments for the afternoon, and after lunch, after kissing one of my tulips for luck, I left. I wanted to be home before Andrew was. I walked into the house and went straight to his room. "Hello, Mrs. Davon." "Hello, Virtue." When her face popped up on his television, I marveled again at my son's masterpiece. "When will Andrew be home?" "According to his current schedule and current traffic models, Andrew should be home at 8:24 pm." Truly impressive. "Thank you, Virtue." "You're welcome. Is there anything else I may do for you?" "Yes, please tell Andrew to dress for dinner," I said as I walked out of the room. I went to my bathroom and drew a bath, throwing in two lilac bath bombs. As I soaked in the tub, I let years' worth of stress wash out of me. Years of dissatisfaction and disappointment slowly soaked out of my skin as I relaxed. I stood up and let myself air dry. I always felt like my skin was softer when I didn't dry off with a towel. I applied unscented lotion all over my body and then went into my closet. I chose a red dinner gown. It went down to mid-calf, but the slit in it went almost all the way up my leg. It was tight on me, following and flowing along every curve of my body. And it would fall beautifully when I took it off. As I was doing my make up, I heard Andrew come in and walk towards his room. It was at that moment that I knew I wasn't going to wear a bra or panties. I had picked up a dinner of spaghetti, salad, and garlic bread. Andrew loved spaghetti. I lit candles and turned down the lights, soft music playing in the background. I think it really said something about the status of my marriage that I didn't care whether or not Ben was in the house. As I slipped on a pair of 5 inch heels I heard a knock at my door. Andrew stood on the other side. He was wearing a black pinstriped suit with a beautiful gray tie that brought out his eyes. His hair was combed back and he smiled at me, "Mrs. Davon. I was hoping for the honor of escorting you to dinner." A small shiver ran through my body as I smiled. Andrew was always willing to get into the spirit of things. This was going to be easier than I thought. I wondered how often he had thought of doing this very thing. "I would be delighted, Mr. Davon." We sat down to dinner and talked about everything and I kept the wine flowing. I was committed to making this happen, and I wasn't above getting my son drunk to do it. Instead of sitting across from each other, I sat right next to him. I caressed his hand and thigh, watching confusion and lust and hope build in his eyes. I took his hand in mine and stood up, "Come with me, sweetheart. There's something we need to discuss." He was apprehensive, but my son never disobeyed his mother. I took him into my bedroom and he stood facing me. "Andrew, have you ever been with a woman before." "Um... No, ma'am." He was nervous. "I've had girls suck me off, but I've never gone all the way." I smiled warmly at him. "Honey, you know I love you, right?" He nodded. "And you know I would never do anything to hurt you?" He swallowed and nodded again. "Do you trust me?" "Of course, Mom." "Do you love me?" "You know I do." That was all I needed to hear. I slipped the straps of my dress over my shoulders and it fell, pooling on the ground around me. This was it. Past the point of no return. I was standing in front of my son, wearing nothing but a pair of high heels, a few pieces of jewelry, and my make-up. I watched his eyes as the roved over my body. He started at my feet and worked his way up. Up my legs, stopping at my pussy. I didn't shave it, but I kept it trimmed short. Then he moved up, up my hips, my stomach, stopping again to take in my breasts. Then he was on the move again, up my neck, my lips, finally meeting my own eyes. I saw my own lust reflected in his eyes. Thank God. I walked over to him and took his face in my hands. "Andrew, I love you, and I will always love you, no matter what." I kissed him, softly at first. Then I felt his arms wrap around me, pulling me into him. I slipped my tongue past his lips and began to enwrap myself in him. I took all of him in that kiss. I took my hands from his face and gently pushed him away from him. "I want to see you." I started with his tie, unknotting it and pulling it from around him. I took off his jacket and began unbuttoning his shirt. My heart began beating faster and faster as his smooth chest was revealed to me. I unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. I could see his hard cock pressing up against his boxers, tenting them out. I knelt down in front of him and slid them down his legs. Ironic, I was in the same position as the little slut who started all this, kneeling in front of my son's cock. I looked up at him. My son was so beautiful. I looked past his abs and chest and into his steely eyes. "Do you want this," I asked him, lightly running my fingers down his shaft. "Yes," he strained. "Please." "I love you, Andrew." It had been a while, but I still had the skill. I slid his cock into my mouth, my tongue playing along the underside, tracing the bulging veins I found there. He moaned out loud as I brought my hand up to fondle his ball. I sucked him in. Mentally, I was competing with the girl I saw him with. She was just pretending to be me, a stand in, but now, my son had the real thing. I could feel him at the back of my throat. I swallowed and took him all the way. "God, yes, mom yes." I felt his balls contract and knew what was coming. A moment later his cum was shooting down my throat. I loved it. I never knew sucking cock could make me feel this good. I loved how he tasted, how he felt, throbbing in my mouth. I loved how powerful and in control it made me feel. I was so proud of myself. And I had beaten that little slut. I stood up and pulled him with me onto the bed. I was shocked when he brought his lips to mine. I had just swallowed his cum, but he didn't hesitate. He kissed me, deeply. His lips slowly moved away from me as he began kissing his way down my neck, my collar, licking his way through the valley between my breasts. He kissed and sucked on my globes until he came to their peeks. My nipple went into his mouth. His tongue began to play with it as he suckled on me. It was like I was breast feeding him all over again, only better. It was so much more. He sucked on one, then gave the other the same loving attention, before he began to move on. I could feel his cock hardening against my leg as he moved lower and lower. He kissed his way down my belly. I giggled as his tongue playfully slipped into my navel. Finally, he arrived at his destination. He didn't play around. His dove straight into my pussy with his tongue and fingers. He could use some work, but it was still wonderful. The last time a man had done this to me was in college, before I met Ben. Having Andrew do it to me now, I couldn't imagine why I had waited this long. I could feel his tongue, slithering and sliding against my walls and for the first time in over 20 years a man made me come. I arched my back and gripped the sheets as my juices flooded out of me, but Andrew still didn't pull away. He kept licking and swallowing, taking as much of me into him as he could. I was worn out, but he wasn't done with me. He pulled himself back up my body and brought his lips to mine. His tongue slipped into my mouth and I was suddenly tasting myself on his lips. I loved it. I loved the mixture of us. The salty, tanginess of his cum mixed with my own nectar on his tongue. As we kissed, I felt the head of his cock at my pussy lips. His hips pressed down and he slowly slid into me. He didn't stop, didn't pull back, didn't rush. He just slowly and deliberately slid his cock into me until he was as deep as he could go, as deep as anyone had ever been. Finally, my son was back where he belonged. He was mine. I looked into his eyes and I knew. My Andrew, my son, was my man, my soul mate. I found out I was mistaken. As he began to pump himself into me I found out that he could go deeper. And he did. He looked into my eyes and drove himself into me. There was passion in those grey eyes. Passion and lust and love. Most of all love. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him down for another kiss. He never stopped pumping though. It wasn't the fast, rutting pace his father always set. It was hard, deliberate. As if he were establishing something. He was claiming me. My tongue wrapped around his. As much as he belonged to me, I belonged to him. In and out he drove, deeper and deeper. I pushed on his shoulder and he understood. He rolled over, pulling me on top of him. My God, if I felt him before, I really felt him now. I didn't start moving right away. I was still getting use to have something this big inside of me. I had toys that were about his size, but nothing compares to the real thing. Andrew wouldn't let me wait though, he wasn't going to give me the chance to calm down or catch my breath. I gasped as he suddenly sat up and took my breasts back into his mouth. I loved it. He was inside of me and nourishing his lust with my body at the same time. I absolutely loved it. I loved everything he did to me. I was his mother, his lover, and his woman. I started moving, slowly grinding down and up on his cock. Just a little at first, but I began to lift up higher and higher each time. Which only drove him deeper and deeper. "Yes, Mom! Yes!" "I love you, Andrew! I love you!" I understood that I belonged to him. He understood that he belonged to me. I picked up the pace, going faster and faster. Slamming my pussy down on him harder and harder. Our breathing was becoming ragged as we both approached our climax. He came first. His body tensed and he thrust up into me one last time. His cock shot its essence deep into me. That warm fluid splashing on my walls over and over set off my own orgasm. I screamed his name as I came. My juices flooded over him and I fell down to lie on his chest. "I love you, Andrew. I love you," I gasped between breaths. His strong arms wrapped around me and hugged me to him. "I love you too, Mom."