0 comments/ 7731 views/ 0 favorites The Sketch By: AnneO It was a beautiful fall day and Julie was anxious to start sketching. She grabbed her bag with all her paraphernalia and jumped in her car and started driving. Julie did not know where she would end up, but would know when she found the spot. She drove around the curvy scenic road that headed out into the country. The air was crisp but felt great blowing through her hair as she drove along. She wanted to find a nice quiet spot that she could sit and sketch. Life was good. She was thankful for the time that allowed her to get away. She loved sketching the countryside and has sold many of her latest projects at a local shop in her small town. The demand had increased the last couple years and has allowed her to work only part time now. The money she made gave her the freedom to tour the many beautiful areas in Canada. Julie spotted an area that was just what she was looking for and pulled down a short narrow road that led her back into a wooded area. She grabbed her bag, a cooler with her lunch and her music. She was set for a day of artistic solitude. As she sat in the sunshine and went to work, she couldn't believe the beautiful scene in front of her. The leaves were brilliant and the reflection off the lake increased its beauty. Would she be able to capture this in her sketch? She could only hope. Several hours later...Julie got up and started to walk around. She was getting a bit stiff sitting and drawing for so long. Every once in a while she'd need to get up, stretch her long legs and move around a bit. Julie decided to walk down the hill along the narrow path and walk along the lake. It was warming up quite nicely and she felt the urge to go swimming in the brisk water. The lake was so clear you could see the smooth sandy bottom. Looking around, making sure there was absolutely no one around, she quickly undressed and plunged into the very chilly water. Julie swam around, feeling the cold water all around her nakedness. Although she was off shore a ways, she could still stand and feel the sand between her toes. As she lay back in the water, the warm rays of the sun kept her warm on top of her body as the water below kept her quite cold. Finally, when she got too cold but very energized, she swam toward shore. After Julie dried off a bit in the sunshine, she got dressed and went back to sketching. From a distance she could hear someone coming from the breaking of twigs and the crunching of leaves. Julie looked up and saw a man walking toward her with a dog close by him leading the way. She was glad she wasn't still skinny-dipping! Julie continued to sketch as she heard him getting closer. The dog practically leaped into her lap; tail wagging wildly, as it knocked over some of her materials. The man rushed toward her and helped pick things up. He was amazed at the sketch he saw and complimented on how artistic she was, (not to mention beautiful, he was thinking to himself.) He said, "Hi, I'm Mark and I apologize for my overly friendly dog. It's just we never see anyone usually when we walk this way." Julie didn't know what to think other than the fact that he was very handsome! Shyly she said, "Hi, I'm Julie. That's ok, I love dogs. He just took me by surprise." Mark asked her if she minded if he sat and watched for a bit. She said that was fine and continued her work. He was not only watching her sketch. He watched her face as she looked out onto the lake. It was as if she was in a trance, as she artistically sketched away, not realizing he was watching her every move and expression. He thought to himself, "God, she is beautiful." A few hours later, Julie decided to call it a day. Mark helped her put her things in her car and asked if she'd like to get a bite to eat. "Looking like this?" Julie said, as she ran her fingers through her now dried hair. "I shouldn't have gone for that swim!" "We can stop by my place and you can freshen up a bit first if you'd like," Mark said, "I live a couple miles from here." "That would be great" Julie said, "If you don't mind. I am hungry." She offered him and his dog a ride as she followed his directions. They drove just a short distance to a quaint little cabin back in a secluded woody area. Mark led Julie back to the guestroom and told her to feel free to shower if she'd like. As she did so, he went to his room to change and freshen up himself. Being a guy, he of course was ready in no time. When Julie walked out, he couldn't believe it was the same woman he had brought home. She had her hair pulled up, make-up just so and she had on a perfume that drove him crazy. "Wow, you don't clean up half bad," Mark said laughingly. Embarrassed, Julie giggled, "Thanks, you look great too." They went to a small diner nearby and chatted and had a very enjoyable meal. "Would you care to stop by the house for a nightcap Julie?" Mark asked, hoping she would say yes. He wanted so desperately to get "closer" to her. Julie agreed and they had a lovely chat by the fireplace. Time seemed to fly by and before they knew it, it was almost midnight. Mark suggested, "If you don't have anyone to get home to, why don't you stay in my guestroom tonight and get an early start sketching tomorrow." "Oh, I couldn't, you've been too kind already, I don't want to intrude." she said, but really was tired and was not looking forward to the drive home. "I insist! It's way too late, I don't want you falling asleep driving home," Mark said. Julie finally gave in. He threw a large T-shirt at her and said, "Here, sleep in this!" as he went into his room and closed the door. Julie undressed and put on the T-shirt. Mmmmm it smelled of him she thought. She felt unusually comfortable with Mark and curled up and was asleep in no time at all. Meanwhile, Mark was in his room, thinking about how lovely she was, and really wanted her. After tossing and turning for almost an hour...he couldn't resist any longer. He got up, threw on some boxer shorts, and tip toed down the hall and into the guestroom. Julie was sound asleep. Slowly and quietly he slipped under the covers behind her, smelling her hair, softly touching her thigh as he snuggled up against her long luscious body. She moaned and wiggled a bit but was still fast asleep. Mark couldn't keep his hands off of her. He gently ran his hand from her shoulder all the way down around her tush and down her leg. He reached the bottom of the T-shirt, hesitated for a moment and then slowly reached up under it, feeling her soft skin beneath his hand. Again, Julie moaned, as if she were thoroughly enjoying her dream, but still sleeping soundly. Mark's hand found more and more of what he wanted as his hand traveled under the oversized T-shirt. Just as he reached her breasts, Julie woke up with a startled look. "Oh my God, what are you doing in here?" she asked. Mark pulled her down, whispering, "Shhhhhh, it's ok...it's ok. Just lie back and snuggle with me. I just can't resist lying here with you." Julie hated to admit it, but it did feel wonderful and she could feel the passion building. She laid back allowing Mark's hands to keep caressing her. Julie finally got up the courage to take Marks hand and put it where she so desperately wanted to be touched. It had been years and she knew that was about to change. As her hand led his hand down to her soft, nicely trimmed pussy, he whispered to her, "Julie, let me make love to you like you've never been made love to before." With that said, Mark sat up and pulled off the T-shirt she was wearing and she assisted him with his boxers. They lay, letting their fingers explore each other. Her fingers touched his body like her pencils sketched her canvas. The rest of the night was a night they would both never forget any time soon. The next 2 days went by too quickly. Julie would sketch while Mark read or watched her as she turned the canvas into a work of art. God, what a talent she had, and it wasn't just the drawing he was thinking of. She was a woman of many talents, of which he was hoping to find out again that evening. Julie set her tools down and looked at her finished sketch. She could see such life in this one, and knew it was because of Mark. What started out to be a quiet lonely area, ended up being a paradise to her. She looked down at him on the blanket, engrossed in his book and quickly got his attention. Julie began to undress, and asked him to please take her right there, where they first met. Mark rose from the blanket, wrapped his arms around her kissing her passionately. He practically took her breath away. They both continued to undress in the sunshine beneath the brilliant colors of the crisp fall afternoon. He pulled her down to the blanket, his eyes drinking up her beauty, he began kissing her again, and as his lips moved down to her breasts, he felt her breathing intensify. His tongue danced around her erect nipples, as her hands ran through his hair. Mark continued his kisses downward till he found her sweet mound and then he let his tongue go to work. Her soft moans let him know he was pleasing her and when she arched to meet his face, he knew then that she wanted him to satisfy his appetite completely. He licked, kissed, and used his tongue in ways that she never knew possible. He brought her to an earth shaking orgasm that only made him want her more. She made him stop, telling him he was going to drive her insane. His evil grin was priceless. It was then that she rolled over on top and whispered in his ear, "My turn, my love", she said. Julie let her fingers and lips travel all over his body. She worked her way down slowly, feeling his hard cock between them. As her lips touched him she heard him gasp. She slowly began to kiss and lick every inch of his shaft. The moans coming from him was like music to her ears, as she knew then that she was pleasing him as he had pleased her. Her lips grasped him tightly as she moved faster and faster around him. His hips arched to meet her mouth, allowing her to take him as deep as she possibly could. God, it as sooooo good. Finally Julie could not stand it any longer and sat on top of his hard cock and let it slide ever so easily into her hot, dripping pussy. She rode him hard and fast and the two of them came together with one big explosion of passion. She fell on top of his chest, their lips met, both totally exhausted. When they had caught their breath, Julie suggested they clean up by taking a quick swim in the lake. Mark said to her, "Do you realize how cold that water is?" Julie nodded and pulled him towards the lake...laughing the whole time and calling him a chicken. As they came closer to the lake, he grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder, kicking and screaming, as he ran into the water and threw her in. As Julie came up for a breath, she laughed and ran to give him a bear hug, pulling him down with her. They didn't swim long, just enough to get revived. They got dressed, and gathered up everything. Julie knew that with the picture being finished, she would be leaving this wonderful place. As they drove back, she told Mark that she really needed to get back, yet didn't want to leave him either. He understood, feeling the same way, but when they did part, they both knew they would probably never see one another again. She stayed the night, not being able to resist one more passionate escapade with him, and as soon as she was sure he was asleep, she silently gathered her things and drove away into the night. When Mark awoke the next morning, he realized she was gone and he felt like he had lost something very precious. As he walked into his living room with his morning coffee, he saw it. Up on the mantle were her sketch and a note that said, "Remember Me." The Sketchbook "No really, you shouldn't have," I said dully as I examined the sketchbook. "I haven't drawn anything since college, Jack." "Oh come on, it's not like you have to submit them for grading or anything," my husband replied. "Just have some fun with it. You used to love drawing." "What do you think, Steven?" I asked, my eyes turning to my eighteen year old son. "I say it's a great present, especially since it was my idea to get it for you," he answered with a puckish grin. "Seriously though, Mom, I know you get bored sometimes at home, and you used to be a bit of an artist in school, so why not?" "Well, I suppose I might scratch something in there once in a while, but I doubt I really have the itch to get into it again," I said. "I do appreciate the sentiment though." For the next few weeks, I barely touched my sketchbook. Not that I didn't have the time, in fact, as Jack and Steven had pointed out, I was often bored staying at home. Jack ran a small business and Steven was engrossed with school and playing sports and somewhere along the line I had been left out. I had a few friends I spent time with, but ever since my best friend Amy had moved away I didn't socialize all that much. I had tried to become involved with Jack's work, but if anything I was more of a hindrance to him than an asset. Besides, I could tell he'd rather I not be around. Knowing that hurt me a bit at first, but later I merely accepted it as being the byproduct of being married twenty years. He needed his space and, I suppose, I needed mine too. We didn't have much of a sex life either, but that was OK with me as neither of us seemed to have much of a sex drive these days anyway. I admit, however, once in a while I'd get extremely horny. Sometimes Jack would be around for those times, but usually I'd have to take care of matters myself. Once again, that didn't bother me though. That's sort of the routine we settled into, and for the most part it was comfortable, albeit mundane. After a few days and some pestering from my husband about not drawing anything, I decided to get out a pencil and draw a few sketches. At the very least, I thought, a few drawings might make him happy. And so I went out in my garden one summer's day and drew a sketch of my flowerbed. Nothing fancy; in fact, it was a rather poor drawing. Feeling somewhat embarrassed by this weak effort I drew a sketch of a plum tree in our backyard. A much better result, but my skills had definitely deteriorated over the years. Still, it would probably be enough to make my husband content, so I put the book away. Later that night, Jack looked at my drawings. He wasn't as thrilled as I had expected -- I suppose he had been feigning interest before for my sake -- but nevertheless he said he was glad to see I'd found something to occupy my time. A week later I saw that a robin had taken nest in the tree, and feeling surprisingly motivated set out to grab my sketchbook and pencils. And this is where my story goes asunder, for I don't know quite how to explain what happened next or why. On my way back to the yard I looked up and caught the sight of my son Steven walking on the second floor of our house. He was going into the bathroom, and to my complete astonishment he was completely naked. Later I would manage to piece together enough information to understand what had happened. It was harmless, really. Steven had taken a shower and needed a towel and, not wanting to put his soiled clothes again over his wet body, decided to get a towel from the closet down the hall. Steven hadn't realized I was home, so he made no attempt to cover up. In fact, Steven hadn't even noticed me when I saw him. I had several emotions run through me at that moment, enough so that it's difficult to describe. I suppose the easiest one to put into words was shock. I guess that's perfectly understandable considering the circumstances. But, for some reason, even long after it had happened the image of my naked son wouldn't go away. At first I tried to dismiss it as misplaced pride. You see, not only was Steven a wonderful son, but he had grown up to be quite handsome. At roughly 6' tall and 185 lbs., Steven was quite strong, rugged, and fit. And with an engaging smile and gentle eyes he had no problems gaining the attention of most girls. It was clearly more than that, however, because even long after the moment had passed the image still lingered in my mind. Moreover, I felt a heat that made my skin flush red with excitement. I went back into my yard and tried to forget what had happened by sketching the robin. The quality of the sketch was awful, however, and in the anger of having being distracted this way I tore the page from the sketchbook and threw it away. I didn't touch the sketchbook for another week, and my overall morale was low enough that Steven became aware of it. He asked me what was wrong, but of course I couldn't discuss it with him... or anyone. Unfortunately, things only managed to get more complicated. "Mom, I was wondering if you'd draw me," Steven asked. "What?" I said, sounding more apprehensive than I should have. "Why?" "I dunno, I just thought it might be cool to have a picture drawn of me," he replied. "Anyway, I noticed you haven't added anything to your sketchbook lately." There was an awkward moment of silence between us and then Steven piped up, "Come on, it'll be fun." He was smiling, looking as bright and handsome as ever. "Oh, all right," I smiled back faintly, giving in. It wasn't as if Steven had done anything that deserved punishment, and besides, I was probably being silly about all of this. Steven stood in front of a small table with his back to it. He then leaned back so he was half sitting on it, with his legs on the floor crossed at the ankle and his hands casually holding the tabletop for support. I set up my things and began drawing. The finished product looked awful, even taking into account any rustiness my skills my have gathered over the years. Truthfully, I felt nervous drawing Steven after the incident from before. In fact, I had a hard time even looking at my son without thinking about that day. Of course, that wasn't anything I could tell him though. "Sorry dear," I frowned. "It's been a long time since I've drawn anyone and I guess my skills have deteriorated since then. I'll just leave it for now and maybe I can work on it later on." Later that day I went back to my sketchbook and attempted to fix my drawing of Steven. I hadn't really intended upon trying again, but Steven seemed genuinely disappointed at how it had turned out and I thought I should at least try to fix it. I knew what the problem was though; it wasn't my skills that were failing me but rather my nerves. Or more specifically, it was my guilt. Seeing my son naked the other day had stirred an unexpected attraction towards him in me, one that I was both unable and unwilling to deal with, and my anxiety had gotten to the point where I couldn't even sit and draw a simple portrait of him anymore. It made me start to wonder if I had any other repressed desires concerning Steven that I couldn't check. "You're just being silly," I told myself finally. Moreover, if I didn't find a way to channel these feelings properly it would eventually distract me to the point where it really might become a serious problem, or worse yet, Steven and Jack would start asking me questions I wouldn't be able to answer. Drawing a portrait of someone I was attracted to had always produced erotic feelings in me, nothing sleazy, just stimulating. It had never bothered me to release those sensual emotions into my work before; in fact I had occasionally became very aroused in my younger days when drawing a sketch of a young man I fancied. I had never felt guilty about these emotions before, even if I when involved in a romantic relationship with someone else. But this time it was my own son having this effect on me, and the guilt had been so bad my hand practically shook when I tried to sketch him. After giving it some thought I decided that the best thing to do was release these emotions but to do so in a controlled environment. And with that I went back to my makeshift studio (i.e. the guest bedroom) and started drawing again. It took some doing, but I was finally able to get over my anxiety, and once I did so I was rewarded with a strikingly radiant portrait of Steven into my sketchbook. What I hadn't expected, however, was the extent at which the experience would stir up my passions. It was as if sensuality itself was a river flowing through me. It started from my own body and moved through me like warm honey and out my hand to my pencil before caressing Steven's loving form. The experience had left me in an extremely aroused state, and this time I was well beyond the point where I could simply let it go. As much as I felt consumed by passion, however, I also felt consumed with guilt. I suppose that's when the need for self-preservation took over, because when weighing the choices of extreme pleasure versus extreme pain, it became clear which direction I would take. And with that I lay back on my bed and brazenly pleasured myself for the better part of the afternoon, having two tremendous orgasms in the process. After it was over the heavy burden of what I had done returned to my conscience, but I knew I could survive it. Besides, I reasoned that it was preferable to deal with my inner demons rather than try to avoid them. The next day, I showed Steven my drawing, and he was absolutely thrilled with it. He even insisted I show Jack the drawing. "Really Steven," I said, feeling bashful, "it's not that good." "Of course it is," he replied, flabbergasted. "I can't believe you're being so modest. We showed it to Jack and he was equally impressed, saying that it rivaled anything I had done from college days. The whole thing felt a bit strange to me, that is, knowing that the outpouring of my sexual desire for my son that had produced something that he and my husband could like so much. Not that I was the type to be embarrassed by such a thing, if only it had been someone than Steven to stir such feelings in me... "No matter," I thought, "what Steven and Jack don't know won't hurt them." At Steven's request I sketched him again. And again. At first it was a very awkward. As I said before, it was only when I had allowed myself to lower my defenses that I had felt relaxed enough to draw him properly. The first time I had done this I had been alone, but now Steven stood before me. Could I allow myself to drop my guard with him now posing for me? "What's wrong, Mom?" Steven asked. "You seem nervous." "Nothing dear," I lied. Again I felt so tense that my hands were practically shaking. Steven eyed me oddly, not sure what to make of my behavior. "Relax," I told myself, "relax." I settled down in my chair and began drawing, and slowly my nerves began settling down. The process took time, but I eventually lowered my defenses enough for my emotions to inspire me. It was like settling into a warm bubble bath and allowing the healing qualities of the water seep through and overwhelm me. The odd time my eyes would meet Steven's as I drew and I couldn't help but ponder... could he discern any of what I was feeling? I tried to keep my eyes from staring at him in any way that might divulge my secret, but oftentimes a look or smile from him made me wonder. In any event, I felt as if an unspoken, sensual connection had formed between Steven and I that day. It felt odd that something could happen like this with my own son, but I simply reasoned at the time that after being married to Jack for so long any new stimulus, even Steven, was bound to be more exciting than what I had now and left it at that. Nevertheless, it wasn't the last time I drew him, and Steven was always more than happy to pose for me. Even though nothing ever took place between us during these sessions, I found myself getting more and more aroused after each one. And I also became more convinced that Steven could sense my excitement. One day I went to an art supplies store to buy another sketchbook, as the one I had was almost full. Although I appreciated the old book as a gift the truth was it was not very good in quality, and I decided to buy something more in line with my tastes. After some searching I found beautiful leather bound sketchbook. The cover was dyed brown and had a rustic, antique look to it, with a raised lettering type design of leaves, vines and other foliage curling over it. It cost a fair bit more than I had wanted to spend, but after haggling a bit with the shopkeeper I managed to get a reasonable discount if I agreed to buy two. Part of me knew I shouldn't have made such an agreement, part of me knew I was only trying to rationalize urges that should have remained forbidden, but by this time my passions were too strong for me to always remain rational. You're probably wondering, dear reader, what the significance was of my purchase that day. Simply put, I had always kept my sketchbook in plain sight for my husband or son to look at whenever they wished, which they occasionally did. I planned on doing the same with its replacement. But now I had a second book, one they knew nothing about, and although I fought my instincts for awhile I think I knew from the start what I was going to do with this it. It would serve to capture those emotions I dared on not show my husband or son. In a manner of speaking, the first book was for Jack's wife and Steven's mother, but this was book was for me. The first drawing I made in my private sketchbook was easy for me to decide upon as the image had been there for weeks, just waiting in the recesses of my mind for me. My mind went back to that innocent yet fateful day when I first realized my son was no longer a boy, the day he had managed to stir up those untold desires in me. Steven was at his most beautiful, natural state, strong and masculine, but not like an angel, and I drew him as such. I drew more sketches as I relived that moment. Some were from different angles, and although I hadn't seen his manhood that day I shamelessly rendered it now, even deciding to draw him as being very well endowed. My hand moved furiously across the paper as I recaptured the moment in my sketchbook, my heart beating wildly as the emotions of that day took hold of me once more. The sensation was as liberating as an orgasm, and before I knew I was having one right then and there. Over the next few days, I filled the pages of my sketchbook with illustrations of my inner desires, and my drawings of my son shone brightly with erotic imagery and themes. It might sound silly considering everything that had happened thus far, but it still took more time for me to take that last step of putting my deepest fantasy to paper, but eventually it came out too. I suppose up until that point a physical rendering had been a bit too much for my conscience to bear, but one day my horniness got the best of me and I began to draw. The first drawing was simple enough, one of Steven and I in a tight embrace. It had some subtle erotic overtones, but probably not enough to raise much suspicion, as it might not be too strange to see any mother and son holding each other this way. But then I drew the same picture again, and this time Steven was in the nude. Also, the countenance of our faces was clearly that of two lovers in a state of rapture. I drew us this way again, but this time Steven was in front of me with my body pressing into his from behind. He was also sporting an enormous erection that I held in one of my hands as if I was masturbating him. The drawings continued, and finally I gained enough courage to draw a series where we were both naked. Even though I had pictured this in my thoughts many times before, seeing an actual drawing of my son and I naked together was strange. Strange, but exhilarating. It was a much slower process to move the erotic themes forward on paper than it had been to do in my mind, but in a way I savored the experience like a lover who is nervous but thrilled as she explores her partner for the first time. I was now covered in a sheen of sweat from the excitement pouring though me as I drew and drew. At first I only had Steven and I holding hands as we looked into each eyes longingly. I quickly continued with more drawings, however; the sexual content getting stronger with each one. After a few more I drew one of us in a lover's embrace, our mouths exploring each other's in the of passion of a French kiss. Another had Steven's head sucking hard on one of my nipples as I stroked his hard cock with my hand. I had never drawn anything pornographic before, but the erotic images of Steven and I were so intoxicating that I couldn't help myself now. I spent the rest of the day drawing these dirty pictures, the carnal energy burning through me like lava from a volcano. I drew picture after picture of my son and I masturbating each other with our hands and mouths; picture after picture of my son and I in an assortment of positions as we fervently made love. In the following weeks and months I would retrieve my sketchbook from it's hiding place so that I could add another drawing to my collection. More often then not, however, I would use these images to bring myself to an earth-shattering climax. More time passed, and many changes in my life took place. For one thing, Steven had moved away to go to college. The next change came a few months later as my husband and I separated. It was a mutual decision, mostly amicable, and much like our marriage, utterly dispassionate. Steven came back home for a week to comfort me until I insisted he go back and finish the school year. He then came back home for the summer and stayed in his old room while working a summer job. I must admit my new feelings for my son made me feel more odd than familiar having him at home with me again. In many ways, it was better than old times though, as we seemed to connect on much more intimate level than we had before, and my feelings as an adult for Steven blossomed into something that I didn't anticipate. At first I thought Steven was only spending more time with me to console me after my separation, but as time went on I started to suspect it was something more. His glances at me were always slightly more than casual; his embraces always seemed to carry some unspoken feelings that went beyond what a son should have for his mother. His lavishing me with comments on about my appearance also appeared to go much farther than a young man trying to boost an older woman's ego. If Steven hadn't been my son I'd have sworn he was flirting with me. It felt strange, but exhilarating, and for the first time in years I felt like pursuing those types of emotions, even if they were for my own son. I was coy at first, but little by little I began returning his affections. It led to some awkward moments between us, but more and more now I began to entertain the serious possibility of Steven as my lover. And with the two of us alone every night in a big, empty house... the possibility of something happening seemed more real than ever before. The new school year came first however, and before I knew it Steven was gone again. We still corresponded by telephone and mail, but even with the distance between us I became even more certain that his feelings were more than a son would have for his mother. Christmas came, and Steven came back for the Holidays, and once again I could sense a feeling of electricity between us. He had grown into such a handsome, charming young man I doubt many girls could resist him. When I asked him about girlfriends however, he would always say the same thing, that no one could ever replace me in his heart. The funny thing is, the more he said it, the more it sounded like Steven wasn't just deflecting the question or trying to flatter me. The Sketchbook "You know I would never want to bad mouth Dad, but I'll never understand why he never paid more attention to such a beautiful, sexy woman like you, Mom," he said. "Please son," I said, trying to discourage him. As much as I enjoyed his words, at the moment I didn't really have the nerve to continue. "I'm sorry," Steven replied. "But you really are beautiful." It wasn't so much what Steven said as how he said it that left a tension in the room so heavy that I was left speechless. His bright, brown eyes, his warm smile, all of him communicated to me with unspoken promises of his warmth, longing, and desire. Steven took in his arms and held me close, my head against his chest. "Sorry, Mom, but I love you so much," he said, "I guess I always have." I looked up into my son's caring eyes, wanting to tell him the same thing but lacking the courage. He kissed me on the cheek to try and increase the intimacy of the moment, and I could tell he was trying to gauge me for a signal, anything that might tell him it was OK to take our relationship further. "I love you too, Steven," I managed to blurt out. Whether it was the lack of certainty in my voice or his nerve failing him, Steven took my response as a rebuff and pulled away. He appeared clearly disappointed, and within moments managed to quickly excuse himself for the night. I went back to my room to get ready for bed but I couldn't sleep. I was angry with myself. I hated what I done to Steven, and moreover I hated myself for having been such a coward. In a fit of rage that consumed my sensibility I decided to come completely clean and pay for my sins all in one stoke. I didn't know what the future held, nor did I know how Steven would react, but I knocked on Steven's bedroom door, making sure to be back safely in my room before he got to his door. And on the floor, in front of Steven's door, I left my private sketchbook. Back in my room, I sat up on my bed with my hands folded on my knees. Once in a while, my eyes would look at my clock, noticing how much time had passed. Five minutes... ten minutes... the more time that passed, the more I felt consumed with feelings of horror. What if I had somehow been misreading Steven all this time? If that were true, I had irrevocably harmed my relationship with my son in a blind moment of thoughtlessness. I wasn't sure if I had the mettle to ever face him again. There was a faint knock at my door, followed by another a minute later, but I was too scared to answer. The door to my room opened, and there, in the faint moonlight, I saw my son standing there with the sketchbook in his hands. Steven came over and set it on the nightstand next to the bed, then sat on the bed next to me and put his arm around my shoulder. At first it felt like an act of trying to calm or relax me rather than a sexual advance, but something told me the time was finally right to let go the last of my inhibitions. Besides, now that Steven had seen the sketchbook there was no sense in trying to hide my feelings for him any longer. And with that, I put my hand gently on Steven's cheek and gently pulled his head towards mine. We were so close I could feel his hot breath on me now. Slowly I moved even closer until my lips lightly brushed back and forth against his. "Mom I..." he managed to stammer. "It's OK Steven," I replied, "everything is OK now." Covering his lips fully with mine, we settled slow, steamy kiss. And everything really was OK for me at this point. Whatever force of nature that had caused my son and I to feel this way about each other had brought us to where we were now, and I knew that the only choice I could live with was to journey this river of our passion we were traveling and see where it took us. I'd come a long way emotionally since that fateful day of catching my son on the way to the shower. I may have merely desired him sexually at first, but now I knew I wanted him as a lover too. I pulled excitedly at my son's shirt, exposing his strong chest and arms and he responded with one of his sexy, boyish smiles. I climbed onto Steven and straddled his thighs, and then he reciprocated my earlier actions by pulling off my nightdress so that I was only clad in my panties. I then leaned forward and he took one of my already excited nipples into his mouth, sucking on it hard. "Oh Steven, yes, yes!" I cried. I had said the words in my mind a thousand times before but now I said them aloud for both of us to hear. It was the first time in ages I had spoken such words of desire in my bedroom, but after the long years of loneliness that came with a passionless marriage saying them now felt wonderful. My young lover continued his skillful ministrations on my breasts, making me moan loudly in approval and quiver in delight. I managed to move enough so that I could unzip Steven's pants and get my hand in. A jolt of arousal passed through me when I encircled Steven's exposed cock with my fingers, and the whole bed gave a savage vibration as his hips instinctively lunged forward to meet my hand. I stroked his cock hard and fast as he continued feasting on my breasts with his lips and tongue. Now the room filled with both sounds of both a male and a female moaning. I knew Steven was close, but I didn't care. If anything, it made me increase the intensity of my handjob. "Oh, god yeah," Steven groaned, his chest flexing hard as he came. His thick semen covered my fingers with its stickiness and slowly ran then them to his black-haired groin. Steven had to rest for a bit until his strength returned, and I took the opportunity to remove what remained of our clothing. Steven still lay on his back when I stood up to take off my panties. When he saw me completely naked for the first time he smiled like a kid in a candy store and said, "I've wanted you for so long. This like a dream come true." I smiled back and lay on top of him, our hot flesh now molding into one, and began kissing him forcefully on the lips as our hands eagerly explored each other's bodies for the first time. In a strange way, I felt like I had caressed Steven's nude body many times before as my pencil had lustfully traced every inch of him onto countless sheets of paper, but of course nothing compared to the real thing. And right now I could think of nothing that I wanted more in the world I than to feel the real thing deep inside me. I rose onto my haunches and, hovering over Steven's loins like a woman possessed by lust, sank onto his manhood, screaming as I felt it fill me with its hardness. And in this position I made love to him, slowly and seductively at first, wildly and enthusiastically as my climax approached. The bed shook beneath me and the mattress springs signaled the sounds of our lust as my young lover's hands caressed me all over to increase my pleasure. Finally, the moment that I had waited over a year to share with Steven had arrived. "I'm cumming baby!" I screamed loudly, bucking so hard on Steven's cock that I nearly lost balance. Steven held me in place as I shook from the excitement, and began pistoning into me hard from below as I rode out one hell of an orgasm. I needed some time to recover so I lay next to Steven with my head on his shoulder. His cock was still at full mast, and I gently stroked it for him. Doing so was starting to get me excited again, and I knew it wouldn't be long before I was ready for more. With deftness that certainly demonstrated experience, Steven rolled us both into the missionary position in one smooth motion. He was rubbing his hard cock on my excited slit, driving me once again into a frenzy of lust. "Put it in Steven," I moaned. "Fuck me good." I had never been the type to talk dirty before, but the exhilaration of casting off my earlier inhibitions now made me want to act wilder than usual. Steven began rocking back and forth into me, fucking me with an enthusiasm that only a horny, virile stud can produce. "Oh yes, Steven yes," I cried, practically delirious now, "your cock feels so good!" I didn't think it was possible, but my encouragement somehow spurred Steven to fuck even harder. His enthusiasm was infectious, and I found myself determined to show him that even an older woman was capable of matching his energy in the bedroom when she was properly motivated. Grinding my hips hard back and forth into Steven, I matched his fierce thrusting stroke for stroke, my lust giving me the stamina to keep up with him. Our copulation became heated and intense, and for the first time in my life I experienced what some might call the "making of beautiful music" of lovemaking that only a male and female in perfect unison can produce. Steven groaned that he was cumming, and that was enough to send me to my crescendo with him. The force of our orgasms traveled through each of us like a wave of ecstacy, flowing from one lover and into the other, and we clutched each other tightly as it passed, savoring the experience of being joined together both in body and in soul. "I love you so much," Steven said, looking tenderly into my eyes, and I repeated the words back to him, giving him a soft kiss on the lips. I smiled at my son, and for the first time I was no longer afraid of what future lay before us. There was no doubt of the openness in the declaration of our love, no doubt that we could speak to each other not only as a mother and son who loved each other but also as a man and a woman who were in love. I knew that our love for each other hadn't died by what we had done - it had grown. We spent the rest of the night joyously consummating that love, and by morning I felt like a new woman, ready for whatever challenges the world laid before her. When I woke up the next morning Steven was already up and taking a shower. On the nightstand I noticed my sketchbook and, picking it up, sat in bed and began lazily flipping though the pages. I was the first time I'd looked though it in quite some time, as even last night I had left the book in front of Steven's door without opening it. "Oh my God!" I exclaimed, "I gave him the wrong one." I flipped through the pages, looking at the harmless drawings of trees and so forth in utter disbelief. I had stopped hiding the secret sketchbook after my husband left, keeping it with the identical one I had bought the same day. And in my frazzled state from the night before, I had accidentally given Steven the wrong book. "Oh well," I chuckled, "I guess we have even more to talk about then I realized."