10 comments/ 106557 views/ 18 favorites The Incest Spiral Ch. 01 By: showher Thanks to Cantdog for the editing help. Maternal incest is a strange malady. A person you've loved deeply since his birth, one you've caressed, kissed and hugged, has grown into a strong, handsome young man. The way he sometimes looks at you or the occasional hug that lasts a little too long instinctively warn he may be seeing you as a woman, not just his mother. The attention, subconsciously, flatters you, makes you feel younger, more attractive. Unaware of purpose, you pay closer attention to your appearance around the house. You welcome the intimacy of a casual touch or the stir in your stomach when his eyes remain a little too long on an exposed expanse of thigh! This is the beginning of the spiral and this is the beginning of my story. "Forty-something, the sagging years!" That unpleasant little fragment created itself in my head this morning as I was getting ready for my niece's wedding. I had been a bit despondent ever since the invitation made me realize that time was slipping past me. More than my fortieth birthday, the marriage of my niece brought home the fact that I wasn't exactly a spring chicken anymore. In spite of the happy, celebration atmosphere I felt depressed and unattractive. Naked after my shower, I looked into my mirror and saw an aging woman with large sagging breasts and a protruding belly. With little effort I could twist enough for the mirror to verify the existence of crease lines at the bottom of my ample butt cheeks. Everything seemed to be going south, literally! The contents of my lingerie drawer did little to lift my spirits. I never considered myself anything more than average; the daughter of a farmer, attractive but neither beautiful nor sexy. The drawer reflected my mediocre self-image. It contained a sea of white cotton; cotton under-wired brassieres, full cut white cotton panties and even my garter belt was uninspiring white cotton. The few "slinky" items purchased over the years had been strictly for my husband's pleasure, my role not much more than his mannequin. I finished dressing in flesh colored hose, white garter belt and underwear; electing to go without a slip because it was very warm for early May. The cotton print dress was gathered at the waist creating a full, almost crinoline-like skirt that would block the light. Thankfully, with the aid of under-wire and the fluffy skirt, the prim mirror image was a slight improvement over the naked lady. I turned my attention to my vanities lips, nails and hair. Nature had blessed me with thick, healthy, red hair. It remains the feature I like most about myself, although lately, I've had to give the color a small assist now and then. My mouth is very full and fortunately none of those little vertical lip lines have appeared. Both mouth and well manicured nails are usually painted a bold red. They clash with the copper colored hair but my skin is pale and lightly freckled, allowing me to pull it off. The final inspection before leaving revealed a full-bodied, mature, well maintained housewife and mother, modestly dressed. Red nails and lips were the only hint of adventure. "What youth has given, age taketh away," came another un-summoned thought. I couldn't shake the feeling of being frumpy even after my husband donated the obligatory compliment and Max, my son, said I looked "hot". The ceremony was over and the reception winding down. I was sitting outside on the clubhouse deck sipping wine and talking to friends. Approaching the table, my husband announced he was wanted at the hospital and had to leave. I was left to find a ride home. Max had ridden with my nephew Nick and four other friends. His car was full but Nick offered to take me if I would sit on Max's lap. "I've sat on your lap plenty of times," Max said, grinning. "Besides, it's only twenty miles." I accepted, not giving it much thought except what the police would say if we were stopped. We squeezed into Nick's top down, restored convertible with Max and me in the middle of the back seat, one young man on either side of us and three more in the front seat. I sat squarely on Max's lap, the backs of my thighs pressing against his and my bottom fully against his groin. I was leaning back against my son's chest and his arms were around my waist with hands clasped loosely over my belly. Off we went! As we reached highway speeds the wind blew my flounced skirt up in my face exposing my legs. I quickly pushed the skirt down. Max saw what was happening and clamped a hand on each of my thighs, just above the knee, to hold the skirt down. It was well after dark but, judging by their expressions, each of the boys in the back seat was treated to a good view of my upper thighs if not my underpants. The rest of the trip they were very vigilant in observing the action of the wind on my skirt. Their interest in my exposed legs stirred some inner feeling. My ego responded by telling me maybe I wasn't related to the frumpy older woman I had seen in the mirror that morning. I continued to monitor the young men from the corner of my eye and was rewarded by the knowledge that they both checked out my breasts and legs several times. Off the freeway and into stop and go traffic I became acutely aware of my soft, plump ass being jostled back and forth, up and down on my son's groin. When we stopped for a light I could feel his heat radiating through the thin material of my dress. I wished I had worn my slip. Son or not, he was a full grown man and I was spooned tightly against him. Max's hands absently massaged my lower thighs, heedless of the lack of wind. Against my better judgment I relaxed against Max, enjoying the ride, as a few small butterflies appeared in the pit of my stomach. About two blocks from our home shock rippled through me as I felt a new presence against my bottom. Could my own son be having an erection due to the closeness of his mother? The heat radiating between our bodies, real or imaginary, seemed to increase by ten degrees. I didn't move a muscle until we stopped in our driveway. The car doors opened and one of my young admirers assisted me from the car, eyes never leaving my legs. Pushing myself off Max's lap, I again felt something probing the cleft of my bottom. A covert glance at the front of his suit pants confirmed my suspicions. My son had the beginning of an erection. Conflicting feelings of relief and disappointment washed over me as Max announced his intent to continue on with his friends. "Thanks for the ride, gentlemen; see you later, Max," came out a little breathlessly. Max's sister elected to stay the night with a friend, leaving me alone in the house. I stood before the bedroom mirror that was so cruel to me that morning; my windblown hair and wrinkled dress gave me a sort of used, even slutty, look. The image smiled. I felt lighter than I had for weeks. Young men, my son's age, took an interest in me. I had even aroused one of them with my closeness. "What kind of a mother takes pleasure from exciting her own son?" I wondered guiltily. After fixing a gin and tonic, a double, I returned to the bedroom and removed my dress. Struggling to comb out the mass of copper tangles I was aware of my bra-encased breasts jostling with the effort. "How would you young gentlemen like to see these?" My mind teased. I removed my cotton underwear pants, stood before the mirror, and took a new appraisal of what I had to offer. I tried to see myself from the standpoint of an eighteen year old hormone factory. Overall my body was ok, not fat, but a little thicker here and there and with an abundant derriere. My butt still flared from a narrower waist in the classic 'pear' shape accented now by the white garter belt. I made a mental note to buy some black lingerie; it would look good against my alabaster skin. After two children I had no discernable stretch marks. My belly puffed out under the garter belt but in my new frame of mind I saw it as an inviting fullness; a fullness sloping to the soft, curly, red hair hiding my moist, puffy mound. My legs are sturdy but shapely, more like a cheerleader than a runway model. There is the beginning of some cellulite but my thighs and hips appear fairly taut. When not wearing hose a few tiny blue veins are visible. All in all, I have 'nice' legs. I removed my bra and let my titties swing free. The sight of my heavy breasts, with their pinkish brown nipples jutting from puckered areolas, reminded me of the street phrase, fun bags! Yes, these could be big fleshy fun bags. The thought young men seeing me like this was having a positive effect on my self esteem, not to mention my libido. The areolas stood out in stark contrast to the pale, lightly freckled flesh of my tits. My tits sagged toward the outside of my stomach, displaying the ghost of some sub-surface veins and stretch marks, but remained full and round. Draining my drink, I thought, "They might not look as good as they once did, but I bet they could stir some interest." I finished undressing, turned out the light and slid, naked, between the cool percale sheets. My hand immediately sought the folds of my labia, now swollen and wet, a result of my daydreams. There between the smooth petals I found my pleasure center. I thought about the young men in the car and what they had seen when my skirt blew up. Would they masturbate tonight? What about the next time they saw me, would they remember? My orgasm built as I imagined the two boys watching me undress and my allowing them to feel me up. As my climax started to boil over the scene changed. I was rubbing against Max's erection while he cupped my breasts. I tried unsuccessfully to block the image as the second orgasm evolved into him holding me in his arms kissing me tenderly. My excitement subsided, slowly replaced with the first tendrils of guilt. Tears sprang to my eyes. For god's sake, I just masturbated thinking about my own son. Guilty or not, I couldn't help the feeling of rejuvenation. I felt younger and more attractive, maybe even desirable. Who knows, maybe there's a dormant succubus residing in me. Thoughts of letting her loose filled my head as I dropped off to sleep. Later I would come to look upon this day as the threshold to something sweet, irresistible, passionate and socially taboo! Incest Spiral Revisited A grateful thank you to an exceptional editor, Lunarosa, for assistance with style, grammar and theme. * Maternal incest is a strange impulse. A person you've loved deeply since his birth, one you've caressed, kissed and nurtured has grown into a strong, handsome young man. The way he sometimes looks at you or the occasional hug that lasts a little too long instinctively warn he may be seeing you as a woman, not just his mother. Subconsciously the attention flatters you, makes you feel younger, more attractive. Without conscious purpose, you pay closer attention to your appearance around the house. You welcome the intimacy of a casual touch or the stir in your stomach when his eyes remain a little too long on an exposed thigh! This is the beginning of the spiral and this is the beginning of my story. "Forty-something, the sagging years!" That unpleasant little sentence fragment insinuated itself in my head Saturday morning as I was getting ready for my niece's wedding. I had been a bit despondent ever since the invitation made me realize that time was slipping past. My niece's marriage brought home the fact that I wasn't exactly a spring chicken anymore. In spite of the happy, celebratory atmosphere, I felt depressed and unattractive. Naked after my shower, I saw an aging woman with large sagging breasts and a protruding belly gazing back at me from the mirror. With little effort I could twist enough for the mirror to verify the existence of crease lines at the bottom of my ample butt cheeks. Everything seemed to be going south, literally! The contents of my lingerie drawer did little to lift my spirits. I never considered myself anything more than average, the daughter of a farmer, pretty but neither beautiful nor sexy. The drawer reflected my mediocre self image. It contained a sea of white cotton; cotton under-wired brassieres, full cut white cotton panties; even my garter belt was uninspiring white cotton. The few slinky items purchased over the years had been for my husband's pleasure, my role not much more than his mannequin. I dressed in a garter belt, underwear and flesh colored hose, electing to go without a slip because it was very warm for early June. The cotton print dress was gathered at the waist creating a full, almost crinoline-like skirt that would block the light. Thankfully, with the aid of under-wire and a fluffy skirt, the prim mirror image was a slight improvement over the naked lady. I turned my attention to my few vanities --- lips, nails and hair. Nature had blessed me with thick, healthy, copper-red hair. It remains the feature I like most about me, although lately I've had to give the color a small assist now and then. My mouth is very full, and fortunately none of those little vertical lip lines have appeared. Both my mouth and well-manicured nails are usually painted red or pink. They clash with my copper mane, but my skin is pale and lightly freckled, softening the blow. A final inspection before leaving revealed a mature, well maintained housewife and mother, modestly dressed. Red nails and lips were the only hint of an adventurous spirit. "What youth has given, age taketh away." Another un-summoned thought reinforced the feeling of frumpiness. Even after my husband offered up the obligatory compliment and Max, my son, said I looked 'hot' I still felt old and somehow ... over! The ceremony was finished and the reception winding down; I was sitting on the clubhouse deck enjoying wine and conversation when my husband approached and announced he was wanted at the hospital and had to leave. I was left to find a ride home. Max had ridden with my nephew Nick and four other friends. His car was full, but Nick offered to take me if I would sit on Max's lap. "I've sat on your lap plenty of times," Max said, grinning. "Besides, it's only twenty miles." I accepted, not giving it much thought other than what the police would say if we were stopped. We squeezed into Nick's top down, restored convertible with Max and me in the middle of the back seat, one young man on either side of us and three more on the front bench. I sat squarely on Max's lap, the backs of my thighs pressing against the front of his, my bottom fully against his groin. I was leaning back against my son's chest and his arms were around my waist with hands clasped loosely over my belly. As we reached highway speeds, the wind blew my flounced skirt up in my face exposing God knows what. I quickly pushed the skirt down. Max saw what was happening and clamped a hand on each of my thighs, just above the knee, to hold the skirt down. It was twilight but, judging by their expressions, the boys in the back seat were treated to a good view of my garter-belted upper thighs, if not my underpants. The rest of the trip they were very vigilant in observing the action of the wind on my attire. Their interest in my exposed legs stirred a hidden desire to show them more. I quickly dismissed this foolish thought but my ego responded by telling me maybe I wasn't too closely related to the frumpy woman I had seen in the mirror that morning. I continued to monitor the young men from the corner of my eye and was rewarded by the knowledge that they both checked out my breasts and legs several times. Off the freeway and into stop and go traffic, I became acutely aware of my soft, plump ass being jostled back and forth, up and down on my son's groin. When we stopped for a light I could feel his heat radiating through the thin material of my dress. I wished I had worn my slip. Son or not, he was a full grown man and I was spooned tightly against him. Max's hands absently massaged my lower thighs, heedless of the lack of wind. Against my better judgment I relaxed against Max, enjoying the ride, as a few small butterflies appeared in the pit of my stomach. About two blocks from our home, I felt a new presence against my bottom. Could my own son be having an erection due to the closeness of his mother? The warmth radiating between our bodies, real or imaginary, seemed to increase in a heated wave. I didn't move a muscle until we stopped in our driveway. The car doors opened and one of my young admirers assisted me from the car, eyes never leaving my legs. Pushing myself off Max's lap, I again felt something probing the cleft of my bottom. A covert glance at the front of his suit pants confirmed my suspicions. My son had the beginning of an erection. Conflicting feelings of relief and disappointment washed over me when Max announced his intent to continue on with his friends. "Thanks for the ride, gentlemen; see you later, Max." My voice came across a little throaty. Max's older sister, Heidi, was on a cross-country trip with a friend, so I would be alone in the house. I stood before the same bedroom mirror that was so cruel to me that morning, seeing that my windblown hair and wrinkled dress gave me a sort of used, even sluttish look. The image smiled. I felt lighter than I had for weeks. Young men, my son's age, had taken an interest in me. I had even aroused one of them with my closeness. "What kind of a mother would take pleasure from exciting her own son?" I asked the reflection, guiltily. In my husband Carl's den I fixed a double gin and tonic, then returned to the bedroom and removed my dress. Struggling to comb out the mass of copper tangles, I was aware of my bra-encased breasts jostling with the effort. "How would you young gentlemen like to see these?" my mind teased. I removed my underwear pants in front of the mirror and took a view of what I had to offer. I tried to see myself from the viewpoint of an eighteen-year-old hormone factory. Overall my body was okay, not fat, but a little thicker here and there. An abundant derriere flared from a narrower waist in the classic 'pear' shape, accented now by the white garter belt. I made a mental note to buy some black lingerie. After two children I had no discernable stretch marks. My belly blossomed slightly under the garter belt, but in my new frame of mind I saw it as an inviting fullness; a fullness sloping to the soft, curly, red hair hiding my moist, puffy mound. My legs are sturdy but shapely, more like a cheerleader than a runway model. There is the beginning of some cellulite, but my thighs and hips appear fairly taut. When not wearing hose, a few tiny blue veins are visible. All in all I have 'nice' legs. I removed my bra and let my titties swing free. I looked at my heavy breasts, with their pinkish brown nipples jutting from puckered areolas, and was reminded of the slang name, "fun bags." Yes, these could be big, fleshy fun bags. The thought of young men seeing me like this was having a positive effect on my self esteem, not to mention my libido. The areolas stood out in stark contrast to the pale, lightly freckled flesh of my tits. The rounded breasts sagged toward either side of my stomach, displaying the ghost of some sub-surface veins and stretch marks. Draining my drink, I thought, "They might not look as good as they once did, but I bet they could still stir some interest." I finished undressing, turned out the light and slid, naked, between the cool percale sheets. My hand immediately sought the folds of my labia, now swollen and wet, the result of my daydreams. I found my pleasure center between the smooth, slippery petals. I thought about the young men in the car and what they had seen when my skirt blew up. Would they masturbate tonight? What about the next time they saw me, would they remember? My orgasm built as I imagined the two boys undressing me. One boy was paying homage to my ass and the other weighing my tits in his hands. As my climax started to boil over, the scene changed; I was rubbing against Max's erection while he cupped my breasts. I tried unsuccessfully to block the image as a second orgasm evolved into him holding me in his arms kissing me tenderly. My excitement subsided, slowly replaced with the first tendrils of guilt. Tears sprang to my eyes. For God's sake, I just masturbated thinking about my own son. Guilty or not, I couldn't help the feeling of rejuvenation. I felt younger and more attractive, maybe even desirable. Who knows, maybe there's a dormant succubus residing in me. Thoughts of letting her loose filled my head as I dropped off to sleep. The Sunday morning sun piling up on our bed was testimony that I had missed early mass. My husband Carl had joined me sometime during the night and was asleep with his back facing me. Groggy from sleep, I rolled my nakedness against him. He muttered in a sleep soaked mumble, "Honey I was at the hospital all night . . ." Rolling back to my side, I contemplated the effects of the ride home and my self indulgence in this very bed. I must be turning me into a perverted old woman. Well maybe not 'that' old, I smiled in remembrance. Going to confession is going to be a challenge this week and maybe beyond. Donning an old cotton shift and a robe, I set out to start the coffee and plan what would now be, in light of the hour, brunch. I removed the bulky robe and was standing at the counter slicing cold boiled potatoes to fry with sausage links. This was Carl's favorite; Doctors don't always practice what they preach about eating healthily. Behind me, Carl entered the kitchen rattling the paper, and I gave him a little wiggle of my bottom to show him what he had missed by sleeping in. "Good morning, mom." Oh my God, Max! I had assumed Max had stayed the night with one of his college friends. Blood immediately rushed to my face and neck, my nineteen-year-old son was standing in my kitchen clad only in a pair of pajama bottoms and I was shaking my ass at him. All I could do was stammer, "Jus - just getting brunch ready for dad. I'll fix you some too, if you don't mind waiting." Max answered by pouring himself a cup of coffee and sitting down with the paper. "No problem." My eyes regarded the robe over the back of the chair. Retrieving it now would only emphasize the fact that I was scantily clothed, so I elected to continue the brunch preparation in the hope that Max would leave the room. Maybe I was just over reacting; he seemed to have taken no notice of my attire or my lewd wiggle. I was acutely aware of my near nakedness and it excited me! Erotic thoughts materialized, unbidden: Do my breasts jiggle enough to notice? When I bend, does the shift stretch tight over my ass? Is Max watching? Am I giving my son another erection? A tingle was starting deep in my abdomen and spreading in all directions. I couldn't seem to get control over my sensual rejuvenation. I felt guilty and giddy at the same time. The food was ready and waiting to be cooked whenever Carl made his appearance. I could now pick up my robe and leave the room. Instead, I walked over to look out the back door, a position that put me between Max and the sun's brightness streaming in the door. "It's going to be a beautiful day," I said turning slowly toward Max. I stood with legs spread apart and sun at my back, knowing full well that my son --my baby-- was seeing his mother's fully-defined naked silhouette. Without looking, I knew my turgid nipples were tenting the flimsy material of the shift. The antsy crawly feeling at the bottom of my stomach was arguing with the 'what the hell are you doing?' part of my brain. The brain was running a poor second! Eyes busy everywhere at once, Max rasped, "It's already a very beautiful morning." Innuendo? "Hello, where is everybody?" My husband yelled down the stairs. "I'm going to take a quick shower and then we'll have some of that Sunday morning health food." The spell broken, I retrieved my robe and told Max I was going to get dressed before we ate. "OK mom, me too." In the privacy of my bathroom I stripped off the shift and sat on the edge of the tub. I was shaking from excitement, or maybe revulsion, or both. In my mind, I said to myself, "This can't go on, it can't; I'll get it under control." I reasoned that my handsome young son represented the boys ogling me yesterday. The boys had made me feel younger and prettier. My self esteem rose substantially, and as a result the whole incident jump-started my libido. Fully dressed, including underwear, t-shirt and slacks, I returned to the kitchen. After giving each of my guys a morning peck on the cheek I cooked breakfast. We ate without further incident. Max left the house before I had finished cleaning up the kitchen. He often volunteers to help, but not today. The rest of the day passed quickly, concluding with Carl and me playing nine holes of golf. We dropped into our normal summer routine Monday: Max up and off to his summer landscaping job by 7:00 a.m., Carl and I up about 7:30, breakfast, and the Doc starts his rounds. My week days were filled with housekeeping, shopping, tennis or golf. As the week progressed big mama seemed to regain a foot-hold on her sanity, though I must confess, each day I looked forward to Max's homecoming. He looked so manly, tanned, no shirt, baggy shorts and covered with sweat and dirt. Any girl (woman) would find Max attractive; six foot, slim with subtly defined muscles, a chiseled face and dark hair. He has a small amount of hair on his chest and a thin line leading down from his navel, disappearing in his shorts, tickling the imagination. Each day, arriving home, he would kiss me on the forehead and ask about my day, then head for the shower. I even cherished the sweet-sour man smell of his day's labors. Everyday I would think how much I loved my boy. My not-so-little man! Except for the homecomings, my life returned to the everyday routine of a middle aged housewife. I even managed to convince myself that exhibitionist incident Sunday morning was merely a careless accident on my part. Thursday it was off for some window shopping, or so I told myself. My interest lay more in being looked at than looking! Clad in an ordinary scooped-neck house dress reaching my knees, bare-legged with low heels I headed for the local mall. I think I really wanted to reinforce the new feeling of being attractive to men. Not that I hadn't received looks before, large breasted women always do, but now I felt younger, pretty and desirable. At one point I sat down on a bench and crossed my legs, soon a businessman and later a boy in his late teens took a seat opposite. Nonchalantly I uncrossed my legs and bent forward to set my purse on the floor, exposing thigh and cleavage. I felt the whisper of a tingle in my belly as both males ogled my assets. I reversed and repeated the act once more then arose and walked away sensing eyes on my backside. At home I laid out my purchases; one halter top sun dress, knee length with built-in bra and a three quarter length night dress of light jersey material, a replacement for the worn out shift. The length and high neckline of the nightdress were more modest, but the clingy material revealed the wearer beneath. Renewed confidence seemed to dispel any desire for fancy lingerie, black or otherwise. That evening Carl announced he would be leaving the following week for a seminar and golf outing and asked if I would like to come along. I gracefully declined his invitation to participate in two and a half days of boredom. A relaxing weekend alone would be welcome. The following Thursday, at dinner, Carl gave me a last chance invitation to accompany him the next morning. I declined stating a weekend apart would be a tonic for us both. Withdrawing two fifty dollar bills from his money clip and handing them to Max, he said, "You take this good looking young lady to dinner in my absence." Then smiling he added, "You'll have to be careful with the wine." "Don't worry, Dad, I've been out with wild women before!" Max replied, both men grinning and enjoying the joke at my expense. After dinner and before Max left for the evening, I glibly told both they would be lucky to get a date with a woman as exotic as me. They agreed, grinning at each other --- men! Friday morning promised to be one of those late spring days that make one want to draw it all into one's lungs, pleasingly warm and sunny, buoying one along without care. I felt an indefinable anticipation, a feeling of impending excitement. I took it to be housekeeper freedom, that feeling that accompanies the knowledge that you're not obligated to the menial chores of running a home for a few days. My men were both off by 7:00 a.m., Max to his job and Carl to catch a plane. I lazed; read the paper on the patio, took a dip in the pool and finally dropped on the chaise for a noontime nap in the shade. The feeling of anticipation vibrated softly in some remote corner of my mind. About one fifteen in the afternoon, I reluctantly left my catnap on the chaise lounge and headed for the bathroom. I now felt an odd sense of urgency to be ready, but ready for what? I wasn't going anywhere. Nevertheless I took a shower, washed my hair, shaved my legs and underarms, dried off and took a seat at my vanity. A woman watched me from the mirror, much younger, more vibrant and prettier than the woman that had looked back at me there the day of the wedding. The image was a happy version; full of life and adventure, confident and comfortable not at all — over. Refreshing the coat of polish on my toes, still naked, I looked again into the mirror. There I was, sitting with one foot up on the bench seat, the other on the floor, and legs splayed open. My reflection was as lewd as any available on the internet and I liked the look. The lips of my labia peeked out of the copper-colored hair, revealing the slightest bit of the pink interior and big tits hanging down on either side of my upraised thigh. I could feel a warmness starting in my lower belly. Incest Spiral Revisited "If Max and his friends could only see me now," I thought, "I'm sure I could produce some erections, some hard cocks." Why did I include Max in my vulgar thoughts? Were the ride home and the Sunday morning incident still haunting my libido? I surely do not think of my son in that manner. He's a beautiful, healthy, clean cut boy and I love him to death but not . . . Then recognition surfaced. The feeling of anticipation, the urgency to be ready and the painstaking primping was because I was excited to be alone with Max for the weekend. I could have him all to myself and I wanted to look good when he came home from work. There was nothing wrong with wanting to look good for your son, was there? The chimes of the clock downstairs signaled four thirty, Max would be home soon and I was still unclothed. I gave my hair a few last minute strokes with the brush and opened the underwear drawer. "I think I'll wear white," I said aloud, smiling. Donning khaki Gurkha shorts that flattered my bare legs and an emerald green, v-neck tee shirt, once again I consulted the lady in the mirror. Both the shorts and shirt were taut in the right spots, but at least I didn't look like a cougar. I finished off with white tennies and a thin gold chain around my neck. Unable to quell the anticipatory feeling of excitement I reveled in it, singing and dancing down the stairs like a school girl waiting for her date. God, I must be crazy, or at the very least turning senile. "Hey Mom, I'm home," he called from the basement. "I'll be up as soon as I shower." During my internal discussion concerning mental illness options I had failed to hear Max's car. I moved to the top basement step and ask Max if I could get him something to drink. He stepped into view at the bottom clad only in his dirty work shorts. I could see streaks on his bare chest where rivulets of sweat had eroded the day's accumulated grime. He looked ruggedly handsome. He declined my offer to bring him anything. "I only work half a day tomorrow," He said, continuing to look up the steps. "So we can have our date. Where would you like to eat?" His eyes quickly slid over my breasts and came to rest on my thighs. From his angle I wondered how far up my shorts he could see? I realized I wanted him to see up my shorts. I stood legs apart, arms akimbo while we discussed dining arrangements for the next evening. His eyes kept dropping to my legs and he seemed willing to talk forever. "You da' man, you decide," I quipped. "Now go take your shower." I hated to relinquish the moment but I didn't want to do something I would regret. I'm a mature, married woman I should be able to handle a few transient urges. Forty-five minutes later the object of my mental confusion entered the kitchen fully dressed in chinos, golf shirt and loafers. As was his habit, Max walked over and gave me a kiss on the forehead. "How was your day, mom?" Though not my habit, I slipped my arms around his waist, both of us aware of my breasts against his chest. "Ok, I guess, a little lonely." Stepping out of my hug he held me at arms length and apologetically announced he was going into the city with friends. Cold disappointment replaced the warm anticipation. Declining dinner Max left for his evening out; I wondered if he had a date and if so, was she pretty? Over a cold ham sandwich and coffee, I pondered my irrational urges and actions of the past thirteen days. The line between maternal love and carnal passion seemed blurred. Grasping at straws, I reasoned it to be the result of a woman's two greatest fears; getting older and the empty nest syndrome. In bed that night, submitting to my self analysis, I thought controlling the situation was a manageable task; I would not loose the succubus. Max had left for work by the time I opened my eyes to the morning sun. I felt refreshed, happy and in control. I was looking forward to this evening's date with my son. No anxiety, no inappropriate thoughts just gleeful anticipation. Rolling in about noon, Max announced he had made reservations for seven o'clock at Moby's. "Dockside, weather permitting," he said grasping me by the shoulders and kissing me on each cheek, French style. Moby's is an upscale seafood restaurant on the shore of a small nearby lake. They offer seafood, fresh daily and lots of atmosphere. Carl and I dine there often. "Great choice, honey, I can't wait." The remainder of day evaporated in chores and errands for both Max and me. With a forty-five minute drive to the lake, we would have to leave around six. About an hour and a half before, I retired to my bedroom to prepare. Showered, primped, brushed and painted I stood before the closet deciding between dresses or slacks when I saw the new halter top sundress. I pulled it off the hanger and laid it on the bed. Tan pumps would bring me closer to Max's eye level and make my legs look shapelier. "Ready or not here I come," I yelled to Max waiting downstairs. When I reached the top of the stairs I found Max standing at the bottom. From his vantage point, I thought my date might be enjoying another leg show. Grinning, I made a production of prancing my way down the steps. From the last step I tipped toward my son who caught me in his arms and held me a half dozen heart beats too long. Freed from the grasp I realized two things; a woman who analyzes herself has a fool for a patient and I loved to be in the arms of my son. "Ready?" "Ready." On the drive Max told me, "You're the best looking date I've had this year." Laughing, I replied, "I'm probably the only date you've had this year!" As we entered Moby's, Max wrapped my arm around his and whispered that he wanted to make sure everyone knew I was his date. I responded by wrapping both arms around his and squeezing my titties against him. We were shown to a table on the veranda, better known as Moby's Dockside, where Max ordered a red wine with a fancy name and told the waiter we would order dinner after a glass of wine. It tasted excellent and I was flattered to think that Max had done his vino homework just to impress me. My son had just finished his first year of pre-med; I wasn't naive enough to think the experience didn't include alcohol, but I doubted he'd become a wine connoisseur. We ate lobster salads, reminisced, drank wine, laughed, talked about the future, drank wine, laughed and punctuated our stories with touches. It really did feel like a date. The breeze turned cool as we nursed our coffee; Max draped his sport coat over my shoulders and leaned down to kiss me on the temple. The two fifties Carl advanced Max covered the check and tip, but not by much, Max's profit was pretty shabby but I felt he really enjoyed the company. I took the offered arm as we strolled to the car through the cool spring night. As I got into the car I thanked my date for a lovely dinner and returned his jacket. Before he closed my door he looked at me and said, "This has been the most enjoyable date I've ever had, I mean that." At the table we had talked about how I enjoyed dancing and how Max and Carl tolerated it to keep the peace. Now, on the drive home Max offered to stop at the country club, which had a dance band almost every Saturday night. It was only a little past ten but I took a rain check fearing the magic of the evening would be intruded upon by friends and neighbors. Arriving home about eleven I excused myself to freshen up. Max moved to the living room and loaded a CD from the Big Band era. I found him waiting with arms outstretched in a dance posture, and Benny Goodman, circa 1940, had just started one of his rag numbers. I went to Max and we started a lazy jitterbug; both of us were surprised at how well the other could dance the retro moves. There's unavoidable hand body contact when jitterbugging, and every brush of my breast or bump of hips was like electric current. I think Max felt it also. One move, a spin out and roll up brings the woman up against the man's chest, usually performed at the end of the number. At the end of the third song I rolled into Max's embrace and he held me tight, looking into my eyes he brought his lips to mine and held a long, sweet but non-invasive kiss, full on my mouth. Without reserve, I melted into his arms and into the kiss. Astride his extended leg, my mons pressed against his muscular thigh; my heart's rhythm pounded in my ears. The kiss broke, but he held me close and I pushed against him, kissing his neck. In a very husky voice he said, "Mom, I'm sorry but I can't help it, I love you, I'm in love with you." I felt I was right on a ragged edge, and that I would soon be unable to keep my desires in check, I reluctantly extracted myself from his embrace. 'I am the mother, here, I am the adult,' I tried to keep that thought uppermost in my mind. Tears were visible in Max's eyes and threatening to spill over. I led him to the couch, sat him down then turned out the lights. We could talk almost anonymously, as the only illumination was that of the under cabinet lights escaping the kitchen. I sat down beside my sweet young suitor. For awhile neither of us said anything nor touched the other. My instincts to protect and reassure him were at war with my desire to have him. The closeness alone brought a warm, tight feeling between my thighs. In the semi-darkness soft, ragged breathing was the only sound; the CD had long ceased. Taking his hand in mine, trying to satisfy both instincts, I said, "Max, it sounds silly, but I feel like we have started to date. Who knows, by the end of the week we may laugh at all this and tuck it away as a most cherished memory." Steeped in self-delusion, I continued, "You can call me Robbie when we're alone; it's short for Roberta, as you know." Ignoring the ramifications of what we were doing, in order to take what we both wanted, we agreed to the dating thing, no matter how goofy it sounded. I realized we had been holding hands through the whole discussion. Mashing my bosom against my son, I kissed him full on the lips and whispered 'I love you' in his ear. We spent the next hour entwined in each other's arms, kissing often (sans tongue) nibbling at facial features and talking about our situation. Max explained he'd developed a crush on me the past few years, and being away at college seemed to intensify his feelings. He said the last couple of weeks had been a struggle to keep his feelings to himself. The ride home from the wedding proved to be the point of no return; he could feel my warmth and knew absolutely he was in love with his own mother. He elected to stay with his friends that evening because he feared if we were alone in the house, he would blurt out something he wasn't sure we could handle. He also confessed that when he entered the kitchen that Sunday morning he understood it was an awkward situation. Leaving would have been the gentlemanly thing to do but he couldn't take his eyes off me. "It's okay, Max. It's exciting for a woman to know she excites a man. I'm glad you think I'm pretty and sexy." My part consisted of telling Max I had adored him from the time the obstetrician laid him on my naked belly and how, from that time on, I felt a special attachment for him above and beyond the love I felt for his father or sister. I told him that since he had returned from college, the subconscious highlight of my day was when he arrived home from work and gave me my little kiss on the forehead. Feeling talked out, we agreed it was enough to digest for one day; what a day! We would have tomorrow together 'til late evening when Carl would be home. To say goodnight I leaned against Max and kissed him on the mouth as sweetly as I knew how. My son's arms tightened around me and he lay back dragging me with him. Unresisting, I positioned myself to lay pelvis to pelvis with my son. A tight hot tingly feeling burned at the bottom of my stomach as Max returned my kisses and showered me with endearments. I could feel the beginning of his erection and pushed against him to let him know I was aware. He took my participation as a green light and moved to explore his new toy. I could feel the heat from his hands through the fabric of my dress as his fingertips probed the cleft of my ass. Lying there against my son's covered but fully erect penis caused waves of desire to pour over me. I gloried in the fact that I excited my son to the point that he wanted me above all else. I wanted him to make love ... no, I wanted him to fuck me! My new demeanor was changing me into a more carnal, worldly woman. Max held my ass with both hands and rhythmically forced my pussy against his rigid member. The more I sensed his growing need, the more excited I became. Mustering my last fragment of sanity, I removed the kneading hands from my bottom and sat upright. "Not to fast, Max, please stop." "Mom, I ---" he tried to reply. "There's no need for explanations. I think we have experimented enough for our first date. Let's sleep on it and start tomorrow with clear heads." With that said; I stood, straightened my dress, gave my son a final buss and headed for the stairway. Four steps up I stopped and looked at my would-be lover. "Good night honey, and you can forget the Robbie stuff; I love it when you call me mom, mother or even mommy." Unfulfilled and edgy I lay in my bed tossing and turning, caught between desire and remorse. I have loved my son sweetly since birth, but tonight I crossed the line into lasciviousness. I was naked under the blankets and my fingers caressed a vagina, my cunt, radiating a dull throbbing ache from the depths of those slippery walls. No! I would not consummate the evening's lustful behavior by pleasuring myself! After what seemed like hours, stress induced sleep eventually prevailed and I finally slept, freed temporarily from the perverse labyrinth of love and lust for my own son. The morning felt clean, airy and normal. Normal? Yes, I resigned myself to the fact that I must end the headlong sprint down a path that could only culminate in disaster and heartache. It was seven o'clock; I would soak in the tub for awhile, get dressed and head for the kitchen to prepare the Sunday breakfast. After eating we could discuss what had taken place and the need to end it now. By eight, I was toweling off and painstakingly applying makeup to look as though I wasn't wearing makeup. While forming the A.M. plans in my mind, I had unthinkingly donned my new nightdress. The length and neckline were modest, but the material hugged my body. Removing the nightie I put on a brassiere, underpants and replaced the nightgown. The pale green frock accented my red hair, still mussed. I looked like a pretty, mature woman just out of bed. Barefooted, I padded down the stairs and put on the coffee. The first swallow of the steamy, hot liquid seemed somehow to strengthen my resolve to return to a normal relationship with my son. Control! Why, then, had I taken such pains getting ready this morning, I mused? No answer was forthcoming, crowded out by the hope that Max found his mother pretty in the morning. I laid Canadian bacon, English muffins and butter on the counter and cracked four eggs in a mixing bowl. The front door opened and closed; Max getting the paper. No shaking my butt like last week I promised myself. Control, control, control ... "Good morning mom," Max said, audibly dropping the newspaper on the table. "Morning," I replied, glancing over my shoulder at my son. He was also barefooted and wearing only flannel sleep shorts. Attire noted, I returned my attention to preparing scrambled eggs. Stepping quietly behind me, Max wound his arms around me, lacing his fingers together across my protruding belly. His lips brushed my ear as he pulled my body against his. "I love you, mommy," his breath hot on my neck and smelling of mouthwash. "Mommy, you're beautiful." So attuned to my desires, my son intuited the significance of last night's parting words. The first reference to his mommy found its way to a slowly smoldering spot in the pit of my stomach; the second started the familiar electric tingle. "Max, I . . ." Slipping his hand down to the mound between my thighs he pulled my ass tight against him. Through the cloth of my nightie I could feel my cheeks separating to accommodate his hardening penis. He was no longer a little boy. "There's no need for explanations, mom, we both have clear heads." He was lovingly mocking my words; it instantly became clear that Max, not I, was in charge! Abandoning any pretext of controlling or stopping our spiral, I spread my legs to allow him better access to my pussy. We remained spooned with Max nuzzling my neck and ears while his hands alternately roved over my tits, belly and the swollen lips of my vulva. My contribution was rubbing my bottom against his fully rigid dick. "God, I love you mom." "Mommy loves you too honey," the awakening succubus in me replied. Twisting around to face him, I pushed Max to arms length and stepped aside into the middle of the kitchen. "But right now I want my little boy to see his mother naked," I said, my voice like sandpaper. In a single motion I pulled the new nightgown up and over my head discarding it on the nearest chair. The only sound was a quick intake of male breath. Standing before Max in my bra and panties made me feel more naked than if I'd been totally nude. The throbbing in my cunt connected to my hardened nipples that were making little tents in my bra. I slowly turned a full circle, twice, allowing his eyes to dine as they wished. "Honey, do you want to finish undressing me?" Seemingly unable to respond verbally, Max moved forward, his quivering hands reaching for my breasts. Both our bodies trembled at his first touch of white cotton. A duet of moans filled the kitchen as he squeezed my tits through the armor of the under wire. I turned a half circle allowing access to the clasp, hands fumbled and the bra slid down my arms to rest on the kitchen floor. Before I could turn to face my son his hands snaked under my arms to maul my sagging titties. "Max, take off my underpants." He dropped to his knees, still behind me, and hooked his fingers into the waistband. Without theatrics, he pulled the panties to my ankles. I stepped out of the little pile of cotton and stood, not turning, with my feet about sixteen inches apart. "Mom, you're beautiful," his dry throat rasped. "I love your ass; it's so soft and white." Almost with reverence, he was kneading my bottom and pasting little kisses along the crease where it joins my thighs. A jolt of fire shot through my body as I felt his tongue touch the very bottom of my vulva then drag itself up the separation of my cheeks to the small of my back. Stepping away and facing Max I said, "Honey, it's my turn to look; it's been a long time since I've seen you naked." I moved a half step nearer to him and taking his lead sank to my knees. In front of my face, the green and blue flannel material of the sleep shorts was distorted by his insistent hard-on. Grasping him, through the cloth, I felt unbelievable heat and a girth that relegated my loving husband to an 'also ran'. Jerking the shorts down tanned legs, I freed Max's member to bob against his flat belly. The length appeared to be average or a little more, somewhere around six or six and a half inches, but with a matching circumference. Taking him into my hand, my fingers barely met around the shaft. Fighting the urge to touch my mouth to his manhood, I buried my face in his stomach with his warm penis under my chin and alongside my neck. I stayed that way with my arms around my son's waist and my hands manipulating his muscular buttocks. After a minute or two my hand moved around to cradle the two rubbery eggs in their pouch nestled in a dark forest of hair. Max didn't move but stood above, watching me fondle him. Incest Spiral Revisited Rising from my kneeling position, I took my son's hands in mine and met his gaze; our bodies reverberating excitement like the plucked strings of a bass violin. My lover's rigid cock was pointing up at me as if claiming its prize and my puckered areolas were forcing my nipples to point back. The spongy lips of my vulva were swollen more than in any previous encounter, and the slippery petals of my labia nearly dripped with moisture. Coffee, breakfast, everything forgotten but need and lust, I pulled Max toward the steps. "Let's go upstairs; I want you to be with me in bed." Making a slow production of straightening the unmade bed gave Max the opportunity to explore my body. He seemed to enjoy my tits as they dangled from my bent torso, but I noted the special interest, including kisses, he showed my ass. I concluded my handsome son was an 'ass man'. I slid under the sheet and invited Max to join me. Hot skin entwined with hot skin as our lips devoured each other. I sucked Max's tongue into my mouth a deeply as possible while my hand encircled the heat of his probing manhood. Stroking him, I sensed my son was having a difficult time holding back . . . Throwing the sheet off, I worked my way under him straddling his thigh so that his penis was trapped between our bellies. "Honey, don't worry about being too quick. Let nature take control, we have all day to make each other happy." We started a slow humping motion, with Max's cock probing just above my hip bone and my open vagina riding, wetly, on the large muscle above his knee. The tempo increased almost immediately and I knew Max was approaching climax. I pulled his mouth savagely to my own and thrust my body against his stiffening midsection. Mutual grunts, groans and moans escaped our mashed lips. Max was straining forward, grinding his heavy, throbbing heat into my abdomen. I could feel his testicles moving back and forth across my thigh. Then he suddenly stopped, moaned in ecstasy, and followed with a thrust strong enough to take my breath away --- then scalding semen pulsed onto my stomach and flooded my navel. I held him tightly while he emptied himself, painting me with his hot sperm. Even without orgasm, I felt fulfilled. We cuddled together, fondling and kissing sweetly, our bodies sticky with love. While Max softened, I brought a distended nipple to his lips. "Sweetheart, suckle mommy's titties; it's been so long . . ." For several minutes we lay together, Max sucking alternately on my tits as I stroked his face and quietly hummed lullabies, once thought forgotten. As often happens during nursing, both mother and child drifted into a warm loving sleep.