The Shrine

[incest man]

I looked out the window and saw the city of Chicago beneath me as the
plane banked and began it's descent into O'Hare Airport. The lights of
the city sparkled and glittered, enhanced by the rain that was coming
down. I turned my attention back to the lifeless cell phone I cradled
in my hands and gave a heavy sigh. It would only be a few minutes
before I could turn it back on and see if I had any messages from my
son. I hoped he'd gotten my messages, otherwise he was going to be
surprised when I showed up at his door.

Once we'd landed and had the stewardess' blessing, I anxiously powered
up my phone. My heart leapt as it told me I had four messages and then
my heart sank as I saw they were all from my husband...soon to be ex-
husband. "Asshole," I muttered as I deleted them unseen.

Once I collected my only bag, a duffel bag with a shoulder strap
stuffed with what few clothes I had paused long enough to gather, I
tried my son's cell phone again. Again, I was directed to leave a
message. Resisting the urge to sigh, I took a deep breath and said,
"John, it's Mom again. Like I said earlier, I've left Benny. I'm at
O'Hare and hoping I can stay with you for a few days. I'm taking a cab
to your place. Hope I see you soon." I paused and then added, "I love
you!"

I sat back for the long taxi ride into the city, the driver a sullen
young white man with a lot of metal in his face who was dually focused
on his loud, bass driven hip-hop music and keeping us on the now slick
roads as the rain was slowly changing to ice. I shivered, still
dressed for the warmer Florida weather, forgetting how cold it could
still get in late March in Chicago. As we moved down the highway,
gradually sliding off onto the wet, gleaming streets of the city, I
marveled at how my life had changed in less than a day.

Yesterday, I was Cassie Blaylock, wife to Benny, an often unemployed
construction worker in Pensacola, Florida and prominent deacon in the
city's most conservative church. Benny was lazy, but powerfully
religious -- preferring to view his down-time from work as simply
God's way of freeing him up to work the church's ministry to our
community. Benny was my second husband, my son's father having passed
away from cancer when John was only two. Two years later, I remarried,
finding solace in religion and for a while, in my new husband.

John and Benny never got along -- fighting from the start with Benny
always claiming that John "had the Devil in him." When John defied his
wishes to enter a conservative religious college in Tallahassee,
choosing instead Northwestern University in Illinois, Benny had all
but disowned my son and I hadn't seen my son in nearly six years.

Oh, I'd stayed in touch with letters, phone calls and emails, but
Benny had made clear that my son wasn't welcome at home anymore, not
that John would have stepped across our threshold. I had been caught
in the middle and had seen no other course than to stay with my
husband. After all, my son was now a man and getting on with his life.
While I was nowhere near as devoted to God and the church as Benny, I
felt my place was with him. It didn't make me happy, but that was
life.

Two years ago though, things had begun to really spiral out of
control. Benny announced that he was devoting himself to being a lay
preacher which meant he wasn't going to be working at construction
anymore. Oh, he brought in pocket change, performing the occasional
funeral or wedding, but it was my job as the cafeteria supervisor at a
local junior high school that paid the bills...barely.

That was frustrating enough, but Benny also decided that being more
"godly" meant he was to be more celibate, that with our child rearing
days behind us, sex was something we didn't need anymore. Maybe at age
forty-five, I didn't necessarily need sex anymore, but that didn't
mean I wanted to give it up. Our sex life didn't exactly light me on
fire, but I had enjoyed the once or twice a week vanilla lovemaking
that we'd shared for years and now found myself growing more
frustrated as time went on. I remained faithful, although the
temptation was always there. I bought myself a short, vibrating friend
in secret and kept the edge off with masturbation while Benny was out
spreading the word of God.

The straw that broke the camel's back came this morning though, when
Benny announced plans to basically sign over the house to the Church.
"We can live here through our declining years," he explained to me at
the kitchen table as calmly as if he'd bought a new toaster or shovel,
"But it will be our tithe to God."

Now, over the years, I'd put up with a lot from Benny -- I knew he
loved me and we'd had good times together, albeit less lately and
while never as religious in my heart as he was, I'd been raised in an
old fashioned Christian home and had been a good and obedient wife,
but this had been too much."

"I don't think so," I'd snapped back. "I've worked myself near to
death to pay off the mortgage for the last twenty years and now that
we own this place free and clear, you're not giving it away!" I don't
know what pissed me off more -- that he would try and give our house
away or that he would give it away after I, pretty much by myself, had
worked and paid for.

Benny's face grew red and he hissed at me, "Remember your place, wife.
I'm not asking you -- I'm telling you. I'm the husband, your's is to
obey, praise God!"

"You might be the husband, Benny Blaylock, but I'm the one who worked
her ass off while you sat on your lazy butt and prayed all day. I paid
for this house and you're not giving it to the church!"

The argument got ugly from there, with screams and shouts and Benny
quoting scripture until I told him he could take God and the church
and shove them up his ass. So he slapped me...hard....hard enough to
knock me down. When I picked myself up off the ground, I didn't say a
word, but walked away, went upstairs, threw a few clothes and things
into an old nylon duffel bag and grabbed my shoulder bag -- my big
purse that weighs a ton and holds my wallet and makeup and other
assorted things a woman needs.

As I tried to leave the house, Benny tried to stop me. When he
growled, "Know you place, woman," and raised his hand to slap me
again, I swung my purse hard and left my husband curled up on the
ground, his hands cupping his busted balls and praying to God for
relief.

I climbed in my old, rusting minivan -- the "Mom-mobile" my son had
called it, and drove to the bank where I took out half of what we had
in checking and in savings -- not that it was a lot. I called school
and made arrangements for a leave. I called a lawyer -- a young man
who remembered me from his junior high cafeteria days, who said he'd
take care of things about the house and start the divorce proceedings
and then I headed to the airport.

I sat in long-term parking for I'm not sure how long before I decided
I needed to get away, at least for a few days. My son, John, came to
my mind -- being literally all the family I had and I bought a ticket
to Chicago and now I was in a taxi pulling up to a large high rise
near the downtown area with the rain and ice coming down in buckets.

Paying off the cabbie, I was out the door with my bag just as a
doorman in a ornate, yet threadbare uniform came rushing out with an
umbrella. Despite his best efforts, I looked like a drowned rat before
we both got inside the apartment building, after slipping and sliding
across the sidewalk.

I'm sure I looked ridiculous wearing khaki capris and a short sleeved
cotton blouse under a light nylon windbreaker in the middle of what
appeared to be a late winter event. The doorman folded up his umbrella
and eyed me with concern as I stood there, my long black-gray hair in
tangles, dripping water on the nice marble floor of his lobby as I
shivered with cold. Dark eyes wedged into a roughly hewed
Mediterranean face studied me.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" he asked in a tone that indicated that he
doubted it. Obviously, he knew all the tenants on sight and he was
positive I wasn't amongst them.

"Um...I hope so. I'm uh, Cassandra Blaylock. My son lives here -- his
name is John Harper. Could you let him..."

"Yes, Mrs Blaylock!" The doorman suddenly snapped to attention, his
tone now filled with respect and deference. "Mr. Harper called, ma'am
and asked us to let you into his apartment. He wishes you to know he's
been detained in Billings...um, Billings, Montana on business and is
having trouble with his cell phone. He will call you later this
evening. If you need anything, Mrs. Blaylock, please just let us
know."

The doorman went around a table covered in the same marble that was on
the floor and retrieved a set of keys. He took my travel bag and
gestured towards an elevator. "I'll show you up, ma'am."

A little overwhelmed by his sudden change in attitude, I rode up the
elevator, not speaking as he managed to tell me at least three times
what a fine young man, my son, Mr. Harper was. John apparently lived
on one of the higher floors and the elevator, while very stately,
moved slow. As we moved, I paused to consider the one good thing my
life seemed to have produced, my son.

As I already said, John never got along with Benny and when given a
chance to be adopted by him, refused, saying that even if he didn't
really remember his father, it was wrong to change his name. On this,
I had stood firm with Benny and supported John. My son never really
bought into the whole church thing, preferring to do his praying
before circuit boards and computers. He was on the whole, a proud
computer nerd, although I preferred the word "whiz." Slightly stocky
and plagued with acne all through junior high and high school, he
never dated, preferring his ever more complex computers and the small
circle of friends who shared his interests.

Oh, he liked girls, judging from the computer porn I would find
running on his computer screen sometimes or the girlie magazines he
had under the mattress of his bed and I recognized the signs of
masturbation on his sheets quite often, but never thought anything of
it. Even when he was first struggling with puberty and snuck a few
peeks of me in the shower, I never really worried about it. He was a
growing boy and that's what they did.

I had hoped that once he was at college, he'd meet some nice woman,
but in our many phone conversations, he'd laugh and tell me, "No, Mom.
There's no one here. That's okay, though. You're still my girl, aren't
you?"

I would laugh and tell him yes, remembering the little boy I had
raised who'd before his teenage years would snuggle with me and giggle
before telling me he was my fella. I would hug and kiss on my son and
tell him, "And I'm your girl."

I missed him something terrible, but took pride in hearing of his
accomplishments, although at times, they seemed a bit surreal. He'd
finished his degree in two and a half years and opted to not pursue
higher degrees when a data systems company lured him into their employ
with what sounded like an unbelievable amount of money for a twenty-
year old to be making. All those years preoccupied with computers had
paid off. By the time he was twenty-two, he'd developed a couple of
patents that he'd sold to his company for a fortune plus future
royalties.

With his new found fortune, John had offered to help me out many
times, but I knew that whatever he'd send me would somehow be directed
right into Benny's church and although I could have kept it secret, I
tried to not be dishonest with my husband and so had always told my
son no.

My reverie was broken as the elevator came to a halt and the doorman
led me into a hallway with only four doors -- two on each side. We
paused before one and using the keys, he opened the door, stepped in
to set down my bag and then stepped out. "Mr. Harper asked us to make
you a set of keys, so you can come and go as you like, Mrs. Blaylock."
He dropped them into my open palm and tipped his cap.

As he moved away, I suddenly remembered where I was and reached into
my shoulder bag for my wallet, but the doorman shook his head and
said, "Mr. Harper takes care of me, ma'am." He tipped his hat again
and added, "You need anything, Mrs. Blaylock, call downstairs to the
lobby. Ask for Anthony." He smiled, great white teeth splitting his
craggy features as he said, "Anything you need, just call, ma'am."
Then he was gone and I closed the door behind me, finally after a
crazy day, safe in my son's home.

I slowly took in a large living room -- definitely the home of a
bachelor with lots of leather and chrome furniture -- Star Wars and
Lord of the Rings movie posters adorning two walls -- a big screen
television adorning another and a cluttered pile of equipment which I
assumed comprised game systems and DVD player. On a glass-topped
coffee table were several remote controls lined up in perfect order,
flanked by empty soda cans and a pizza box, empty except for a few
dried up crusts. A tie was flung over the arm of a leather sofa and I
counted at least three pairs of socks scattered about.

I began walking towards the kitchen, spying it past a pony wall, but
paused as on one wall was a large framed photograph and I had to smile
and warmness washed over me. It was a picture of John and me -- taken
the night he graduated from high school, his arm around my shoulders
and both of us smiling from ear to ear. It suddenly occurred to me
that that might have been the last really happy moment for us as Benny
had soon banished my son from our lives. I suddenly ached to see my
John and hug him. Talking weekly on the phone didn't take the place of
actually being around my only child. How much I had missed him over
the last several years washed over me in a wave that was almost
staggering.

Eyes tearing up, I tried to divert my thoughts by exploring my son's
home. The kitchen was very up to date -- all shining stainless steel
appliances, although beyond some canned soups in the cupboard, cokes
and the remnants of take out Chinese food in the refrigerator along
with some frozen dinners in the freezer, there wasn't much in the way
of sustenance.

My tour led me next to the bedroom -- a king size bed centered the
room, clothes scattered all about and a slightly messy bathroom beyond
it. At least there weren't mushrooms growing behind the toilet or in
the bathtub. My John wasn't the best housekeeper but he wasn't a total
slob either. I found another bathroom further along the hallway and a
second bedroom that John had turned into a small and very functional
office.

For work, it appeared that my son kept a very ordered house. I didn't
know much about John's work, but I knew he was very talented at
setting up and data tracking systems for insurance companies and
corporations and keeping them running smoothly -- working out of his
employer's offices in downtown Chicago or from home or on the road.
Several computer screens and towers were arranged about a massive work
desk. I nodded approvingly -- when it came to work, my son was not
careless.

I found the last door on the bedroom hallway to be locked and was
wondering why when I was startled by the shrill ringing of a phone in
both the living room and bedroom. I hurried back to the living room
and picked up the receiver. "Hello?" I said tentatively, suddenly
realizing that while I hoped it was John, it might well be my asshole
husband.

"Mom! Thank God, you made it. Are you all right?" It was my son, his
voice warm and filled with concern.

"I managed to reply, "Yes," and then broke into tears.

My son let me cry myself out, offering gentle words of comfort until I
was done telling him what had happened and then he said in an
understanding, yet firm voice, "Don't worry about anything, Mom. You
can stay with me as long as you like. Forever, if you want!" His voice
quavered a little at the last, but he continued. "I wish I was there
right now, Mom, but we had this big glitch in Billings. I should be
back in a few days. Until then, just make yourself at home -- use my
bedroom. There are clean sheets and blankets in the bedroom closet."

"Well, I don't want to be a bother -- if you have a spare bedroom, I
could use it. The door was locked and..."

John interrupted me, saying, "It's not a bedroom, Mom -- uh, just a
bunch of stuff stored in there. Use my bed. It's comfortable. When I
get back, we'll -- um, we'll figure out something. Shoot, I usually
fall asleep on the sofa anyway." My son voice sounded a bit odd, but
it wasn't anything I could put my finger on.

My son and I finished our conversation, John letting me know where he
kept a backup debit card and its pin number, insisting I use it for
any needs -- "Food, clothes -- anything you need, Mom. Go out shopping
and have some fun for a change."

"Oh, that's sweet of you, son," I replied. "But, I've got a few
dollars -- you save your money."

My son chuckled and answered, "I do save my money, Mom. You know I
make a good living, but most of my expenses are picked up and what
little I spend, I spend on games and stuff. I want to spoil you -- you
deserve, no, you need to be spoiled. After all, you're still my girl,
aren't you?"

John's words almost choked me up, but I managed a weak, but happy,
"Yes, I am, son." We finished our call and I felt happier than I had
in a long time. Then exhaustion crashed over me. I staggered into my
son's bedroom and didn't even bother changing the sheets, simply
shrugging off my clothes and falling naked into my son's bed, pulling
the deliciously heavy and soft comforter over me. I drifted off to
sleep, my son's strongly male scent surrounding me, my last thoughts
of how good he smelled and that oddly, there was a faint hint of White
Diamonds -- the fragrance I'd used since John was in middle school. I
don't remember much about my dreams, but rather I remember just
feeling very safe and happy.

I didn't wake up till late morning, feeling better than I thought I
would, considering that my marriage was in ashes. As I lay there, I
stretched like a big cat, groaning pleasurably as muscles strained --
spreading wide my arms and legs, my son's sheets feeling wonderful. I
took a deep breath as I stretched, again taking in the scent of my son
and then again detecting the hint of perfume mixed in with it.

Sudden realization struck. I was both elated and a little jealous as I
comprehended that there had been a woman in this bed. "That little
devil," I murmured as I scrambled out of bed. "He's gone and found
himself a girlfriend!" As I made my way to the bathroom to pee and
then shower, I made a cursory inspection for other evidence of my
son's friend, but found none. No make-up, no left behind pantyhose. I
was impressed and very curious. My son had never brought a girl home
when he was in high school and I was very curious as to what his type
was.

After a long, long hot shower, I toweled off and paused to consider
myself in a full length mirror in his master bathroom. "Are you ready
to hit the single scene again, after all these years?" I asked my
reflection. Then a terrible realization hit me. I might have to start
dating again! I turned and tried to look at myself in the mirror.

I pretty much liked what I saw. I wasn't half bad for a forty-five
year old woman. Standing five foot, five and one hundred-fifty pounds,
I was a tad plump but it was all in my breasts and my ass. My 38DD
tits sagged a little and my butt cheeks jiggled a bit, but my stomach
still looked good with just a slight round pot and my skin was clear
and just a few crow lines around my eyes. My face was framed by my
longish black hair, shot through with threads of gray, which most of
the time I wore up in a bun. Now it was tangled from the previous
day's travails and a night's sleep, but it kind of looked good. I
suspected if I got it cut a bit shorter and more stylish, I could
still turn a man's head.

I ran a hand over my breasts, pausing to briefly tease my nipples,
watching them stiffen up, resembling the tips of spark plugs when they
swelled up. I ran my hands downwards over my stomach and studied my
legs, still lean and shapely thanks to staying on my feet day in and
day out and slid fingers into the thick forest of black hair nestled
between my legs. It had been so long since a man had lusted for my
body, I wasn't sure if the really hairy look was "in" anymore.

I quivered a bit as I slipped fingers through my black pelt, finding
my labia and spreading myself a little -- recalling John's father as a
fan of hairy muffs -- often showing me photo spreads from some of the
cheaper girly magazines where the girls spread their legs to show off
muffs of wild, unruly hair. Benny had never commented one way or the
other and had refused to consider orally pleasing me.

"Well, I've got plenty of time to decide," I told myself, taking one
last look at myself in the mirror before trying to get my day in
order. A quick assessment of the clothes I'd brought helped me decide
to take my son up on his offer of a shopping trip. I got myself
presentable in a clean pair of khakis and one of John's sweatshirts
and allowed the dayshift doorman to call me a cab.

As I was getting ready to leave, the locked bedroom door caught my eye
and I wondered if I should maybe buy some new bedding and fix up his
extra bedroom so John wouldn't have to act valiant and sleep on the
couch. I let the thought slip from my mind as I went downstairs and
climbed into a cab.

It had been a long time since I'd let myself get carried away
shopping, but by late that afternoon, I returned laden down with
shopping bags and sporting a new 'do, having chopped off several
inches of hair and looking a little more stylish, letting a
hairdresser add a little curl to my usually straight locks to hint at
that "freshly tumbled out of bed" look. Anthony opened the lobby doors
at me, tipping his hat as he gave the new me a frank appraisal and
felt my face flush slightly as he seemed to nod his approval as he
said, "Good afternoon, Mrs. Blaylock."

It was all I could do to not giggle, I felt both embarrassed and
flattered. As I rode up the elevator, I considered how good a day it
had been. I'd bought a couple of dresses, some jeans and blouses and a
jacket that I thought would see me into warmer weather. While at
lunch, I'd called my lawyer who happily informed me he'd filed an
injunction to halt any action regarding the house and that Benny would
be served with papers before the next day was over. "I can't promise
you the moon, Cassie," he said. "But, I promise the least you'll walk
away with is 50% of everything." Later in the early evening, I went
out and shopped for food, buying fresh fruit and vegetables and meat
so I could fix my son some good home cooked meals.

That night as I sipped at my first Scotch on the rocks in many years,
I recounted my day to my son when he called, feeling slightly sheepish
as I told him how much I'd spent on clothes and on a new hairdo. John
seemed delighted. "I can't wait to see it, Mom. I bet you look
beautiful!"

I felt myself blushing again as I murmured, "Well, I don't know. I
guess I'm not so bad for a middle-aged broad.

"That's my girl," John chortled. "Don't you realize what a gorgeous
woman you are -- that you've always been a beautiful woman? I can't
wait to get home and see you, Mom. I'll be home two nights from now,
by the way."

"Well, I can't wait to see you, son. What say I have a nice home-
cooked meal waiting for you?"

"I have a kitchen?" John deadpanned. "Like a stove and everything?"

"Yes, you do, sweetheart and you also have your girl waiting for you."

There was a long pause and then John said, "I can't wait to see you,
Mom," with a funny tone to his voice. "I love you, Mom."

I felt my heart melting as I said, "I love you too, son."

That night I slept soundly again and even though I wasn't exhausted as
I'd been the day before, I again passed on changing the sheets,
preferring the comforting scent of my son -- somehow associating that
with my newly discovered sense of happiness.

In the morning, I set out to make myself useful -- earn my keep, so to
speak. I gathered up John's dirty clothes and discovered washer/dryer
units down in the basement of the apartment building. I cleaned up the
detritus of my son's existence and made his kitchen and bathrooms
sparkle. I started to change his bed, but something seemed to hold me
back and by the afternoon, I began considering again the locked
bedroom. I knew I couldn't impose on my son's good graces forever, but
I could foresee the divorce and all taking a few months to get done
and it wouldn't be fair to my son to give up his comfortable bed.

I retrieved the set of keys that Anthony the doorman had given me and
on the third key, felt the deadbolt slide back. A strange shiver went
through me along with an idle thought of that old story about
Bluebeard's closet, but I didn't imagine I'd find anything shocking in
the spare bedroom -- no caged women or collection of serial killer
trophies. More than likely it was filled with all John's now
antiquated computer junk he was too sentimental to throw away. But
what I found was beyond my imagination...shocking was too mild a word.

I fumbled for a light switch and flicked it on, brilliant overhead
lights flooding the windowless room. In the center of the carpeted
room sat a leather recliner, a plush blanket thrown over it and a
small end table beside the left arm. My attention was quickly drawn
away as beyond it was a huge, framed photograph of a woman in a
cheesecake pose in a red bandana halter top and blue bikini swimsuit
bottoms. She was sitting on a rock -- a lovely blue lake behind her.
The photograph was at least five feet by four feet and crystal clear.
For a moment, I felt a tug of recognition and then I realized that
this was a massive blowup of a picture of me taken over ten years ago,
during a camping trip up into Georgia before Benny had lost interest
in me.

Blown up with excruciatingly clear detail, I had not realized how much
of me seemed to be exposed with my upper breasts overflowing the
halter top. As stunned as I was to see myself, a little part of me
wanted to sigh wistfully over the much firmer figure and toner legs of
my youth. I shook off those odd, silly thoughts and stepped into the
room, wondering what John was doing with a picture like that of me on
his wall.

I'd scarcely taken a few more steps before I was stopped in my tracks
again and to the right of the photograph and above a big screen
television was a large framed painting. I immediately recognized it as
similar to the picture of John and me after his graduation, but here
he wasn't wearing his graduation gown and I wasn't wearing my favorite
green dress. In truth, we weren't wearing anything. The painting had
us both nude, John's arm still around me, but now cupping a meaty
breast, a thick nipple jutting out between to fingers. I had one arm
slipped around my son's waist, but the other reached down so my hand
could wrap itself around an erect penis...a very thick and long penis!
Whoever had painted the obscene portrait had nailed my thick pubic
hair down perfectly, painting a thick, wild thicket of black hair,
split apart by glistening labia.

I couldn't help but look at amazement at my son. Still a bit stocky,
but if the painting was accurate, he'd muscled up some, losing the
baby fat that had plagued him throughout high school. I felt both
mortified and a little shocked and a strange feeling begin to build in
the pit of my stomach, growing warm and spreading downward between my
legs.

The room seemed to tilt just a little. I felt lightheaded and I moved
to the recliner and sat down, fearing I might faint. As I plopped into
the chair, I discovered that it swiveled and it spun me around --
going from the pornographic portrait of my son, back to my left, past
my photograph to pause at the wall to its left and I felt like I'd
been punched in the stomach, all the air going out of me as I moaned,
"Oh my God!"

On the wall was another large, framed painting that dwarfed the
rest...a painting of me. I was naked save for a black bustier and
black stiletto heels. I was sitting on a bed -- no, on John's bed. I
recognized the distinctive ornate carved headboard. My legs were
spread wide, my pussy wet and inviting -- the oils of the painting
seeming to perfectly recreate the appearance of utter arousal of
slick, glistening flesh surrounding by a wild, black bush. The bustier
lifted up my breasts, giving them the real life look of my meaty tits.
My hair was wild and tousled, reminding me of how I looked this
morning and on my face was an expression that conveyed many things:
love, lust, anticipation and invitation.

Tears rolled down my face as I tried to make this all make sense -- to
connect my son to this obscene erotica. I tried to look away, but only
came face to face with my younger self, looking so vibrant and alive
and somehow, now that I was closer and in context with the
pornographic paintings, seeming to be offering myself to whomever was
taking the photograph.

Unable to look up at the walls, I looked down, my gaze falling on the
small end table and I gasped again. A bottle of White Diamond sat
there and beside the perfume bottle rested a pair of panties -- tiger
stripped bikini panties, faded and worn and it hit me that they were
mine as a dim memory of owning them came to mind. I hadn't worn them
in ages and if I'd thought of them at all, I'd have assumed that they
were buried deep in a dresser drawer of my bedroom.

With my hands shaking, I reached down and picked them up. They felt
threadbare and fragile and yet, there were stiffened patches across
the gusset and I dropped them in horror as I realized it was dried
semen. "Oh, John," I sobbed as I realized my son had masturbated with
my panties. A sudden vision of John, stroking that huge erection from
the painting came into my mind, my son jerking off while staring at
the wicked painting of me with my legs spread wide.

I had to get out of that room. I spun the chair around to face the
door and as I came to my feet, I stopped again, gazing at the last
wall. When I'd entered the room, my attention had been locked on my
photograph, so I had walked right past the large bookcase and antique
writing desk and chair situated there. DVDs and Video tapes sat on one
shelf while books filled up most of the bookshelf.

As I cautiously approached, I was able to make out titles -- a long
series of what I supposed were movies, all entitled Taboo -- most of
which were followed by Roman numerals. The books were mostly
paperbacks with lurid titles like "Mom Likes It Hard" or "Mommy's
Favorite Son," although some were trade paperbacks or hardbacks like,
"Garden of Sand" or "The Dreams of the Weeping Woman" and even one I
recognized, an old novel called "Flesh and Blood" that I vaguely
remembered had an incestuous subplot.

A laptop sat on one side of the writing desk, a few flash-drives
scattered around it and lying open on the desk was a moleskin covered
journal -- a lovely fountain pen resting below words written in what I
recognized as my son's handwriting.

Shivering as if the room's temperature had suddenly plummeted, I
slipped into the cushioned seat, casters creaking as I scooted forward
and began to read...

March 7,

I talked to Mom tonight. I love her voice...her voice is like liquid
velvet to me. I wish I could capture it and wrap myself up in it like
a soft, warm blanket. Mom seemed down, but living with that dullard,
how could she not be? I marvel at her ability to put up with him. I
hate hearing her sound so blue. Mom's voice needs to be filled with
joy -- to be hoarse with pleasure, screaming out in ecstasy from being
pleasured...pleasured by me. I yearn to know the timbre of my mother's
voice as she cries out while I sink my hardness deep inside her,
making her shake and tremble and scream as I fill her sweet, motherly
pussy with my cock. Maybe I'll dream of Mom tonight -- Lord knows that
doesn't happen enough, just remembering a wisp of her begging me to
fuck her, to fuck my mother hard until she cums...man, I am riding in
the clouds for weeks after such dreams. Oh if there's a God in heaven,
please let me dream of Mom asking me to fuck her tonight or even
better, God, make it actually come true!

A violent tremor tore through me as I pushed my son's journal away, my
mind reeling as I attempted to comprehend what was going on with my
son. I tore my gaze away from the page of written incestuous fantasy
and saw nestled here and there among the books and DVDs, framed
photographs of me and of John and me, spanning all the years since
he'd been born. There was a picture of me, holding my baby in my arms
-- taken from above with my partly unbuttoned shirt showing off
cleavage from my milk laden breasts. There was a Polaroid shot of me
acting silly, my lips pursed in an exaggerated kiss on John's cheek --
he being maybe ten years old and a Christmas tree behind us.

Mixed amongst these pictures were shots of me I don't remember being
taken. One was of me bent over in my flower garden, shorts bunched up
tightly and showing off the imprint of my crotch. Another Polaroid
showed me asleep in the bed, nightgown sweaty and pulled up, exposing
my legs and thighs, white panties covering my pussy. I looked peaceful
and below the picture was a handwritten caption, "My Sleeping Angel."

Then I noticed on a shelf on the crown of the writing desk, a series
of books -- most with similar covers to the journal I'd just read
from. There were maybe ten or twelve...the first wrapped in a brown
faux-leather vinyl cover. A memory stirred within me. Hadn't my son
asked for a journal for his birthday one year? He'd been what --
eleven or twelve? Was that the one I'd bought him?

However twisted and bizarre this room was, whatever was wrong in my
son's head, I knew I was violating his privacy, but it was so insane.
This was my son, the person who I loved more than anything on Earth
and I wanted to understand this madness. Half rising from the seat, I
reached up and plucked down that first journal. With my heart pounding
in my chest, I opened the first page to see a more primitive form of
my son's handwriting in faded pen ink...

"I saw Mom naked!!!!!!!!!! I saw Mom's tits! I saw Mom's big bush!
She's so hairy down there. It was awesome. Mom is so sexy and pretty
and she's Mom! I got so hard I had to run to my room and jack off. It
was the best yet! I may be a perv but Mom makes me hard just thinking
about her. She left her bedroom door open and I saw her coming out of
her bathroom after her shower and she was naked and wet. Her tits,
man, I knew they were big but these were BIG! I think I'm in love!"

I trembled as I read my son's adolescent ramblings about me. Page
after page followed, John detailing how much he loved my body and his
efforts to see me naked. I'd though it was just once or twice, but if
he wrote the truth -- he'd caught glimpses of me dozens of times in
those early years. I'd been so ignorant. I'd had no idea how many
times he'd masturbated after one of our cuddle sessions or after
seeing my breasts when I'd inadvertently show them off while serving
breakfast in a nightgown that gaped open more than I ever imagined.
According to his words, just me walking by and smiling at him made my
son hard!

I became lost in reading my son's private words, taking down journal
after journal, immersed in the chronology of how I became my son's
obsession. He became so adept at peeking at me -- becoming stealthy in
his efforts to spy on me while I was showering or sunbathing or
slipping into my bedroom to stare at me while I was still asleep when
his father was already up and out of the house -- raging that the
"lazy bastard" didn't work enough to support us, let alone give him
enough opportunities to sneak more looks at me.

There were entire entries devoted to describing various parts of me,
especially my breasts and nipples and my hairy bush which he adored
and found provocative and sexy even though it meant he was unable to
usually see much of my actual pussy. There were entries where he'd
write incredibly graphic accounts of making love to me or simply as he
put it, "Fucking me senseless!"

Other accounts examined his feelings for me, struggling to understand
how he could feel this way about his own mother, but never able to
convince himself that it wasn't love -- that the ache for the
unfulfilled part of his life came from both being unable to share with
me his love and desire for me and from not being able to achieve
similar feelings for any other girl or woman. He spent pages
describing all the things that he loved about me -- my loving ways as
a mother, my "generous and gentle" spirit that he saw me demonstrating
with others -- at school, at church, in the neighborhood -- every
aspect of my life. He loved my sense of humor, my tastes in movies,
food, and food. He loved my body, seeing it as natural beauty,
unforced by diet or excessive exercise.

My mind boggled as I slowly began to comprehend the enormity of my
son's love and/or obsession with me. My mind whirled in disbelief as I
read his lusty thoughts -- his almost primal desire to know me
sexually shocking me almost as much as the description of things he
wanted us to do together...lengthy entries describing me giving my son
a blow job or him parting my thick bush to lick, eat and suck my
pussy. I could feel his hunger for me as he described fucking me in so
many positions -- some which I'd never done myself -- anal sex, titty-
fucking, showering my face with his seed, rimming and tying me down
and teasing me until I screamed for release.

In his mind and heart, my John had been carrying on a love affair with
his mother for over a decade, evolving from pure adolescent lust to
love to something that was both love and lust and something beyond. He
grappled with the incestuous aspect of it all, but time and time
again, spoke as if it was the true cement that bound his love and
desire for me together -- that made it into something holy to be
quested for:

"I know that most would consider me a madman or a pervert or both if
they knew of the great love that I have for my mother -- that I love
her not only as a son, but as a man would love a woman -- his soul
mate. It doesn't matter that she's my mother, indeed, I can only
imagine that our joining together both body and soul would be that
much more intimate because of our bond as son and mother.

Who upon all the earth could I be closer to than Mom -- she who
carried me in her womb for nine months, who raised me, cared for me,
whom I share more with in both blood and mind than anyone else? When I
am near her, I feel an ache to be joined with her once again, joined
cock and pussy -- my flesh buried in her most holy of places. I know
that if the day ever comes that we are joined in love, our bodies
clinging together as we near climax, our eyes locked together, I will
see the truths of the universe unfolding."

A shiver went through me as I read those words, written when my son
was scarcely eighteen years old. To know he had such yearnings, such
terrible passions dwelling within him -- such intense and awful
desires for me. As I reread John's words, the phone rang and I let out
a terrified shriek. I had no idea how tensed up I had become and as I
rose stiffly from the chair, I suddenly realized I'd been sitting
there for hours -- the afternoon had come and gone and we were now in
the midst of evening.

I left John's secret room and made my way towards the phone in the
bedroom. As I moved, beyond the stiff muscles and shakiness from the
stress of my discovery, I felt a warmth...a stickiness between my
thighs as if I had been aroused. Not allowing myself to contemplate
what this meant, I sat heavily on my son's bed and reached out with a
trembling hand to pick up the phone.
"Hello?"
"Mom! Just checking in. Is everything okay? Did you have a good day?"

My mouth opened, but nothing came out. I could hear my son's voice,
but now there seemed to be even more to it -- the very timbre and
enthusiasm in his voice giving his words meaning beyond simple sounds.
Finally, I managed to speak, "Um, Hi, John. I...um, yeah, I guess so."

There was a pause at the other end before John replied, concern
evident in his voice. "You sure you're okay, Mom? You sound funny."

Part of me wanted to blurt out, "You'd sound funny too if you
discovered your son's greatest dream was to fuck you!" but I took a
deep breath and said, "Just tired and all. I guess what I've done --
what I'm doing is finally -- really sinking in."

"Well, don't worry about anything, Mom," John replied. "I've got your
back. Anything you need, I'll give you, Mom. As far as I'm concerned,
you never have to go back. I've got plenty of room in Chicago, you can
stay with me forever!"

I could hear his words making me shiver -- "anything I needed,"
indeed. I was pretty sure I knew what my son thought I needed and he
was just dying to deliver it to me. I felt a tear run down my cheek as
I said with my voice quavering, "Thank you, sweetheart."

There was an awful silence that followed. I know what I was supposed
to say and I knew he was waiting for it. Finally, he said it first.
"Mom, I love you." My god, he said it with so much honesty and need
and love and although a day ago I would have seen his remark as the
innocent response of my beloved son, it was now freighted with so much
more meaning. I knew he meant it, but he meant it in a way that was so
much more than simply a son's love for his mother. I could almost
feels his hands on me as he said it, hungry for me in a way that I had
never realized before.

I struggled to keep my voice under control, but could hear the strain
in my voice as I murmured, "I...I love you too, John."

Tears were flooding my eyes so I could barely see. I struggled to not
break down into a sobbing mess as after another uncomfortable pause,
my son said in a soft, caring tone, "It's going to be alright, Mom.
I'll be back tomorrow night and I promise I'll take care of you.
You're my girl, after all, right?"

"Yes," I whispered. "I'm your girl, son." Part of me was horrified
that I would even play along with this madness after my shocking
discovery. The sane part of me scolded the rest of me, insisting that
I shouldn't be adding fuel to the fire of my son's madness.

John chuckled as he usually did after this exchange, but now I could
hear something underneath the humor in his voice. Something
hungry...something lustful, a sexual undertone I had never perceived
before! After we disconnected, I began to shake so badly I could
barely put the phone back into its cradle. Suddenly, I was sobbing
hysterically and I fell onto the bed, curling up into ball.

I had no idea what to do. Who do you go to for help in a situation
like this? Call your priest or minister? Your best friend? How the
hell do you tell someone, "Hey, my son wants to fuck me, what do you
think I should do?"

I think I laid there for maybe an hour before I cried myself out. I
crawled a bit unsteadily from the bed and noticed through the doorway
that I'd left the light on in that other room...that shrine my son had
created. I couldn't face the prospect of going back in there to turn
off the light and instead retreated to the bathroom, deciding to take
a shower.

I peeled off my clothes and was astounded when as I peeled off my
panties to discover how sticky they were. I ran a hand down between my
legs, feeling the dampness in my thick bush and then further to
discover how slick and swollen my labia were. I looked at myself in
the mirror, still gently, awkwardly fluttering fingers through my
pussy and was astounded to see my nipples absolutely swollen to the
point that they ached. I watched as my expression changed from one of
puzzlement to one of horror. Did I -- had I gotten a bit aroused by
all of my son's fantasies. WAS I ACTUALLY TURNED ON BY THIS MADNESS?

I jumped into the shower, not letting the water heat up and cried out
as the cold water hit me as I tried to wake myself up out of this
nightmare. I shivered until the water warmed and grew hot and then
tried to lose myself in the pulsating torrents. It didn't work as I
soaped my body up -- suddenly aware of my own voluptuousness. My hands
caressed my large tits, teasing my still swollen nipples before
sliding downwards over my round tummy and between my legs. The
tensions of the afternoon's shocks came to a head as I spread my labia
and jammed several fingers into my suddenly horny pussy.

I found myself leaning against the shower wall and positioning the
nozzle to massage my clitoris as I began plunging three fingers in and
out of my sodden cunt. No foreplay desired, I sought release, wanting
pure pleasure to wash away my stress. Without warning, the image of my
son's naked body as portrayed in the painting in the other room snuck
into my thoughts, the image of that immense cock dominating my mind's
eye as I wondered if it was really that big.

I tried to focus solely on my fingers, trying to bring myself off
quickly, but suddenly I had a vision of my son in the shower with me
-- between my legs, feeding me that tremendous cock and I cried out as
my orgasm washed over me while I wondered how a cock that big would
feel inside me.

My legs trembled with effort -- thigh and calf muscles bulging as I
struggled to stay upright -- my ass cheeks scratching against the
stone of the shower wall as I cried out with sweet pleasure, plunging
my fingers inside me as deep as I could, swirling and twisting them in
a vain effort to simulate the sensation of being filled with cock. In
the end, I slowly slid down the wall and had another good cry as I
recovered from the aftermath of my orgasm...feeling both relief and
shame at what I had done.

I eventually emerged from the shower and changed into a nightgown, my
tension somewhat relieved, but still feeling as if some immense doom
hung over my head. I passed by the room I was now thinking madly as
the "Shrine," trying to ignore its presence and into the kitchen where
I fixed myself something to eat although I had no appetite. Having
eaten though, I decided to raid my son's supply of scotch again and
for a few minutes sat in the living room, the lights off as evening
deepened, sipping at the scotch and wondering what I would do next.

Eventually, as the dark increased around me, the light of the Shrine
room drew my attention again. I tried to pretend that the room wasn't
there -- that it didn't exist, but it wasn't long before I was up and
like a moth drawn to the deadly flame, found myself standing in the
middle of the Shrine room staring at the portrait of myself sitting on
my son's bed, offering myself lewdly to him -- spread wide and wet.

A tremble went through me as I tried to grapple with the knowledge
that my son wanted me sexually -- that he saw me as a desirable woman.
Despite my horror at the thought of my son's incestuous desires, I had
to confess that as I stood there, I could not help but feel a bit
flattered. Being admired by a young man was a boost to this middle-
aged, soon to be divorced woman, no matter how perverted it was.

Once again, I felt my nipples hardening under the soft cotton of my
gown. I could feel heat and moisture building in my loins, my body
betraying my mind which acknowledged how wrong this was. A shiver of
delight rippled through me as I walked over to my son's writing desk
and picked up the journals of his that I had not yet perused. With my
pussy lips sliding deliciously together as I moved, I curled up in the
comfortable recliner and began to read again. Perhaps it was my
imagination, perhaps not, that as I began to read, I sometimes caught
a whiff of what smelled like a man's semen -- something that evoked
memories of cleaning my son's room and changing his cum smeared
sheets.

As I read my son's musings on becoming a lover, I tried to tell myself
that I was simply seeking insight into his obsession and tried to
ignore any stimulation it was evoking in me. That I could feel any
trickle of warm wetness between my thighs or an ache in a throbbing
nipple as it swelled with blood was only the result of the sheer power
of John's writing...nothing more. Even the most devout Christian could
be aroused by well done pornography -- it was simply human nature.

I sometimes wonder how many men Mom has fucked? I imagine she's only
been with Dad and that bastard, Benny. What a shame she's had to be
stuck with that dickless wonder all these years. I wonder how many
positions she's been in and which is her favorite. No doubt she's
familiar with missionary -- probably the only position asshole Benny
will use if he can even get it up anymore. Not to say I wouldn't like
to fuck Mom missionary style -- feeling her legs wrapped around my
waist, tightening and making me drive deeper into her pussy -- so wet
and tight and fucking hot, creaming around my cock as I fuck her.

But often when I imagine fucking Mom, it's not in the missionary
position. I see Mom riding my cock, maybe squatting over me or
kneeling on top, her knees on each side of me. I can see Mom's big,
meaty tits flopping and bouncing as she slides up and down my long
dick, making me go damn near nuts as she takes me, burying my cock
inside her, grinding that hairy bush against my crotch, drool hanging
from her lips as she fucks herself into the mother of all orgasms!

Or I see Mom on her hands and knees -- fingers gripping the headboard
of my bed until her knuckles are bone white while I take her from
behind, burying my cock deep inside her cunt and making her scream
with pleasure while my hands are filled with her hanging tits,
pinching her thick nipples until she goes damn near insane while I
pump my load into her womb.

Sometimes though, my favorite way to see Mom is the two of us in my
recliner, her atop me, legs spread wide over the arms, my cock buried
in her hot pussy and my hands cupping her breasts and holding her
tight as we slowly fuck -- Mom hunching her hips back and forth on my
cock as she leans her head back on my shoulder and we kiss slowly and
deeply, my tongue fucking her mouth like my cock fucks her pussy!

Suddenly, I seem to be aware that my son's words are coming true. I
feel his body beneath mine, muscles tense and strong, sweaty and hot.
I am full of my son's cock. It's huge and long inside me, barely
moving while I squirm atop him like a child that needs to scratch a
terrible itch. My breasts ache with passion as I feel his fingers maul
them, squeezing handfuls of my flesh, palms scratching against my
swollen nipples, making me even crazier than I already am.

As orgasm begins to swell up inside me, radiating outward from my
penis-filled cunt, I arch my back, throwing back my head so I can turn
and look at my son's handsome, lovely face -- a childlike smile of
utter contentment on his lips that compel me to lean in to kiss, his
tongue slipping into my mouth to greet my hungry tongue, twirling
together to emulate the joining of our bodies.

I reach down and play fingers along the little bit of exposed cock,
feeling my juices making his long, hard shaft so slick. I flex my hips
to take all of him into me, feeling his cock head nudging my cervix
and then I hear myself screaming as pleasure I never imagined existed
rakes over my body -- taking me without mercy and I am devoured by my
son's lust and love and I give myself willingly to John -- offering
him his mother's love unconditionally! Pleasure takes me like I never
imagined...

And I am awake and squirming about in John's recliner in the midst of
orgasm, my pussy feeling full and so good. I am calling out my son's
name as I hunch over in orgasm and then feel my legs stiffen as I rise
up from the cushion -- blanket now askew and as my orgasm peaks, I
scream in ecstatic delight, "FUCK ME, JOHN!"

Then I collapsed onto the recliner, my breath heaving and moan softly
as I reach down and slowly pull out a long, green cucumber I'd picked
up with the other groceries, thinking to make a salad for myself and
my son. I am stunned to see it thickly covered with my cunt creams, so
thick in places it almost looks like sperm. The blanket below me is
soaked with my juices which are still ejaculating from my pussy in
little bursts as pleasurable tremors continue to echo through my now
naked flesh.

It was several minutes before I was calm enough to consider the
situation. I had no recollection of masturbating earlier. I had been
reading my son's erotic journals and suddenly found myself living in
his fantasies. I had a wisp of a memory of hurrying to the kitchen to
retrieve the thick, green vegetable and a sudden need of something to
fill my aching pussy.

As I tried to calm down, I found myself again and again considering
the lewd and nasty portrait of me, legs spread with an evil, inviting
smile on my face. My dream doesn't fade and I began to cry again,
wondering how it was possible -- even for a few moments, to allow
myself to be that version of myself in that portrait.

Finally, feeling a bit the fool, I stumbled to my feet and left the
Shrine Room, turning the light off and locking the door behind me.
Naked and with my pussy still throbbing from masturbating, I fell into
my son's bed, rolling myself up in his quilt. For a moment, all was
peaceful as I tried to push it all out of my mind, but just for a
moment. Then I could smell my son's scent again on the comforter and
the sheets and now it triggered a new response in me -- more than
feeling safe, now I could feel my body returning to its recent aroused
state...my nipples growing hard once more and my hands finding their
way between my legs -- inhaling the aroma of my son and losing myself
in mad, perverse imaginings.

I fell asleep with wicked thoughts of committing incest with my John,
fingers keeping me near the edge of orgasm as my dreams overtook me.
Mad, sexual images kept my unconscious mind reeling throughout the
rest of the night as my son's descriptions of his fantasies came to
life in my dreams and I'm sure I tossed and turned like I was
possessed as I dreamed of John fucking me in so many different
positions and fucking me so hard, making me sob and scream with utter
pleasure. I dreamed I was kneeling before my son, sucking his cock
slowly and lovingly, taking the immense shaft down my throat -- the
thick head tickling my tonsils before erupting in my mouth. My dream
self took utmost pleasure in being a talented cocksucker, something I
hadn't engaged in since John's father had been alive.

I imagine I mewled like a satisfied cat, writhing in my tangled sheets
as my mind created images of my son and I locked together in lust --
naked bodies slick with sweat, sliding against each other as he buried
his tool in me again and again, his mouth busy covering my body with
kisses and licks and sucks while I relished the taste of his skin, his
cock, his tongue and his seed.

When I finally opened my eyes, the sun was shining through the bedroom
windows -- the faint noises of the city leaking through, I stretched
and then moaned, my mind awhirl with conflicting emotions. The bed was
damp from sweat and beneath my hips, a huge wet spot existed as my
dreamtime orgasms had apparently caused my pussy creams to flood again
and again. I held the comforter to my face, smelling sweat, pussy and
John to combine into a heady mixture that screamed SEX!

For long minutes I reveled in the slowly fading memories of my erotic
dreams, but then slowly reality came intruding back into my thoughts.
Sadness and confusion again reigned dominant over me. I finally kicked
my way clear of the comforter and the sheets and took a shower,
allowing my sexual delights wash away as the water poured over me.

I put on jeans and a T-shirt and made myself a cup of coffee and had
some fruit for my breakfast, trying to focus on what I was doing to
keep my dilemma at arm's length. I found myself on the couch watching
the banal morning talk shows on television, hoping to further distract
myself from my problems, but it was no good. I knew my son wanted to
fuck me and somehow I had allowed myself to imagine the same and to my
horror, discovered that the idea aroused me. I finally admitted to
myself that by myself I couldn't find my way out of this terrible
problem, so I did as I had been raised to do, I turned to God.

Despite my irritation with Benny's devotion to religion -- not so much
his faith bothering me, but his manipulation of the church to ease his
own burdens, I have always been religious and it was my faith in God
and his plan that have gotten me through many crises.

I turned off the television and got on my knees and began to pray to
God for guidance. I poured my heart out to the Lord and confessed my
sudden lusts for my own son and prayed that the Almighty would direct
me to the proper path. I prayed until my knees ached in discomfort and
continued to pray, hoping for divine inspiration. But, as I prayed, my
mind kept drifting back to John's journals, a specific passage
haunting my thoughts, finally becoming so strong that I stood up and
returned to John's Shrine room.

I flipped through his journals, scanning his passionate words about me
-- one book and then another and then finally, in the middle of the
third book I checked, I found the passage he had written that wouldn't
go away as I had prayed.

Even though it's been years since I came clean with myself about my
love and my lust for Mom, I still sometimes ruminate over it's taboo
nature, knowing that if by some miracle, Mom and I were to become
lovers, it would be wrong both legally and by our culture's archaic
beliefs, morally -- that we would be crossing one of the great taboo
lines of the world. But then I ask myself, how can love be wrong
between a man and a woman? How can love be wrong if both people feel
that way for each other? And what love can be greater than that
between a mother and son?

We are born of our mothers -- intimate in such a unique way for nine
months -- being one being. She is our life-bringer and we are her
purpose. We are the end all and be all of each other's existence. How
can it be wrong if a mother and son both wish to reunite and bring
that intimacy back together -- to unite to create that holy union --
sharing bodies and souls? There is no greater love than that between
mother and child and maybe our denial of the ultimate actualization of
that love is one of the great tragedies of our so called civilization.
If incest were truly an aberration, would not we separated simply by
instinct? I think that humankind was meant to evolve to recognize the
ultimate expression of love once dangers of interbreeding could be
countered.

I think that being able to become my mother's lover -- to realize the
power of love on an infinite basis that could only be generated by the
joining of a loving mother and son becoming intimate as husband and
wife in that wonderful way that God has provided. I love my mother. I
love her as a son. I want to love her as her lover and husband, joined
together forever in God's sight and with God's blessing. Love in its
ultimate expression. How could such a beautiful thing be wrong or
sinful?

As I read those words to myself again, a feeling of peace came over
me. The guilt and fear and worry of the last twenty-four hours faded
from me. I found to my surprise that I was crying again, but these
were not tears of anger or shame, but tears of happiness. I had the
answer I had sought through prayer. I knew what I needed to do.

I put my son's journals back on the shelf, and before turning out the
light and locking up, I took one last long look at the wicked portrait
of myself -- lewdly and lustily offering myself to my son. I picked up
the phone and called down to the lobby and asked them to get me a cab.
"I'll be down in ten minutes," I told Anthony. "I have some shopping
to do."

#

"Mom! I'm home! Mom, are you here?" I heard the door close behind my
son and the sound of a bag being dropped to the floor. Soft footsteps
moved towards the kitchen and again I heard my John call out, "Mom,
you here? Whatever you've got in the oven smells delicious!"

Footsteps returned to the living room and then began to come closer.
"Mom?" John said again. "Is everything okay?" I smiled to myself as
his concern warmed my heart. He paused before the door to the Shrine
room and I heard him try the door knob, confirming that it was locked.
I smiled again as he gave a little relieved sigh, so sure that his
secrets were still his alone. I saw my son step into the bedroom
doorway, peering into the darkness there. "Mom? You there...are you
okay?" he said softly, the concern evident in his voice.

"I'm here, sweetheart. I'm fine," I replied in a husky voice. "Please,
son, turn on the light."

I watched him move forward a little, an arm swinging out and then his
fingers flipped a switch, illuminating his bedroom. I felt a thrill
race through me as my son's eyes found me and began to widen in
surprise. My heart pounded in my chest as I watched my son react --
praying that I was doing the right thing.

I was sitting on John's bed, my back resting against the headboard. I
wore only a solid black bustier I had bought earlier that afternoon at
a Victoria's Secret, my meaty breasts totally exposed, pushed up by
the outfit's supporting cups, nipples swollen, engorged with blood,
and a pair of black stilettos with four inch heels. My knees were
drawn back and spread wide so that my heels met below, allowing my
legs to form a diamond shape with my black bush at the uppermost point
-- labia spread wide to reveal my glistening, aroused pink pussy. My
hair, while shorter than in my son's beloved painting, was
painstakingly tousled to create that "fresh out of bed and ready for
fucking" look and I hoped that on my face, I was conveying the love
and desire that my son had so long dreamed I would have for him.

Six years had changed my son...all for the better. The boy child that
had left me for college and a life of his own was a man now -- still
stocky, but all of it now muscle. He still wore his hair short, but
now sported a beard -- a goatee -- covering his upper lip and his
chin. He looked dashing to me -- a bit of a pirate or a rogue.

Fear, joy and lust battled for control of my son's face and even as he
took a step forward, all he could do was stammer, "M-Mom? Is
this...are you...is this really happening?"

"Am I all you hope I would be, John?" I purred, trying not to let my
voice get too shaky. "Am I your dream come true?"

A glance down at the crotch of my son's khakis confirmed that I did in
fact arouse him, but his mind was still trying to catch up to his
instincts. "Oh, Mom, you...you're beautiful!" Sudden comprehension
struck him and fear almost took control as he said, "You...you know.
You've seen my...my..."

"Your shrine to your mother?" I finished for him. "I'm sorry if I
invaded your privacy, but I'm not sorry I know. I felt like I was
being worshipped like a goddess." I smiled as I brazenly rubbed my
pussy with one hand, showing him the wetness between my legs while I
ran one hand through my hair, hoping it seemed sexy to him. "Am I your
goddess, son? Am I your goddess come to life?"

John stood there, stupefied for several moments and then to my
surprise, tears began to run down his face and with a voice filled
with the delight of a child on Christmas morning, he said, "Is this
for real, Mom? Am I dreaming or do you want me too?"

I held out my arms to my only child. "I've seen the light, darling.
Yes, your mother wants you as her man -- to be her lover and her son."
I licked my lips and waggled my fingers, urging him to come to me. "I
want you to fuck me, son. Please come fuck your mother!"

John seemed to leap into bed, coming into my arms as I rose up on my
knees and then I was kissing my son, our lips mashing together in a
fit of passion and for the first time in my life, I tasted his tongue,
rolling mine around his, our thick, slick flesh merging as one even as
his hands cupped my breasts, touching what he had so long dreamed of
touching.

As we kissed, I worked at John's shirt, tearing it off my son, running
my hands over his strong chest before breaking our kiss and lowering
my head to tongue his pebbled nipples, making him moan as he ran his
fingers through my tangled hair. "Oh, God, Mom -- am I dreaming!"

As I ran my hands down his chest, over his defined abs and then
sliding over the khaki material of his slacks to palm his massive hard-
on, I sighed, "Maybe, John, but son if we're dreaming, I pray we never
wake up." I looked up at my child, grinning as I felt him squeeze my
breasts. "I love you, John."

He trembled as he replied, "I love you too, Mom, more than I ever
dreamed possible."

I continued to smile up at my son as he played with my tits, my lips
parting as I gave little moans of pleasure while he pinched and pulled
at my engorged nipples. The entire time I worked at undoing his belt
and unzipping his slacks. My heart felt as if it was about to explode
as I slipped a hand under the waistband of his briefs, gasping, "Oh,
John...you're so...my God, you're beautiful!"

I pushed his pants down, freeing his glorious penis -- bigger even
than in our portrait -- thick and long, a monster pulsating in my hand
that I could barely wrap my fingers around. Then I was pushing him
onto his back, falling atop him as my mouth found his again, our lower
limbs working his clothes free of his body until we lay almost
completely naked. I squirmed about on top of my son, my pussy
quivering as I felt his immense shaft sliding along my labia. I wanted
him to stick that big cock in me right then and there, but somehow I
contained myself -- teasing us both while we both ached for the same
eventuality.

Suddenly we were both on our knees again and as our kiss ended, a
trickle of spittle splattering from our lips onto my breasts, I looked
down at my son's erection, almost slapping against his stomach and
feeling both brave and shy, I scooted back as I reached out and
wrapped my fingers around it again.

I looked back up at my son as I lowered my head, again a bashful smile
on my face as I took the head of his cock, the slit dripping with
precum and brushed it against my lips. I asked the question with my
eyes and John moaned, his body trembling violently as he gasped, "Yes,
please, Mom...I've wanted this for so long."

"I'm going to make all your desires come true, sweetheart," I said
softly before I ran my tongue out and over the swollen head -- so
engorged with blood, it was almost purple! I stretched my lips wide
and felt a gush of my own juices spurt out onto my thighs and the
sheets beneath us as for the first time in my life I took my son's
cock in my mouth. I moaned happily as I tasted flesh, sweat and sperm
-- my son's scent that I had become familiar with in the last few days
now intoxicatingly potent. I could feel my labia swelling -- blood
engorging my flesh as my arousal escalated.

I licked and sucked at John's satiny hard meat, even daring to take
several inches of his shaft despite never having tried to deep throat
anyone before. With each touch of my son's body, I found myself
knowing instinctively how to respond -- what to do as if on some
spiritual level, this had always been my destiny.

Slowly, I slid my lips back up John's long pole until only the great
plum shaped head remained in my mouth. Staring soulfully into his
eyes, I fluttered my tongue and sucked my son's cock until his eyes
suddenly widened and he began to convulse, almost pulling away from my
lips and then he sobbed, "No -- God, not yet! Mom...cumming, Mom!" My
own eyes widened in surprise as I felt John's cock head swell and then
a fountain of hot semen was flooding my mouth, tasting salty and clean
and so hot. My son came a gusher and I had to pull away or be choked
even though it wasn't something I wanted to do.

John slipped from my lips and he splattered my face was another
tremendous shower of sperm, splashing me from the bridge of my nose,
across my cheekbones and over my mouth and chin. I heard myself laugh
with strange joy and then like a woman starving, I closed my mouth
around his cock once again and began to suck while my son shot
streamer after streamer of his semen against my tongue, filling my
mouth with his delicious seed.

My son began to wobble and then he was falling onto his back, me
following the whole time, not allowing him to escape a second time,
sucking furiously as his ejaculations began to wane. His cries of
pleasure filled the air, making me wetter between my legs and I kept
up my cocksucking, even as he clawed the sheets and told me it was too
good, too much, his hands flailing at my hair, torn between pushing me
away and never letting me stop.

He began to apologize, murmuring, "I'm sorry, Mom -- couldn't help
my..." but I reached out and pressed two fingers against his lips,
gently shaking my head as I kept running my tongue up and around his
cockhead, sucking and keeping him hard and swollen.

Finally, confident that my son's lovely erection wasn't going away, I
let him slip from my lips again and as I lewdly scooped up rivulets of
semen from my face and sucked them from my fingers, I smiled at John
and said, "You've nothing to apologize for. Momma was hungry and her
handsome son fed her what she wanted." I reached down and stroked his
spit covered cock and continued, "Besides, now my son is primed and
ready to give his mother the fucking he always wanted to give
her...yes?"

I slipped down alongside my son's sweaty body and resting on one
elbow, leaned over and kissed him again, unashamedly sharing the taste
of his own spunk with him while I stroked his still immense cock. When
our kiss ended, I looked into John's eyes with such love it almost
burst my heart and said softly, "Don't you think it's time you climbed
between your mom's legs and fucked her?"

Again, a smile of childlike joy spread across my son's face and then
he was climbing over me as I rolled onto my back, spreading my legs in
invitation. My pussy pulsated with hungry anticipation, radiating heat
that seemed to spread like wildfire through my body. John raised
himself over me -- awkwardly trying to get into position, a drool of
cum dropping from the head of his cock onto my stomach.

All sorts of expressions crossed his face as he tried to maneuver his
cock against my pussy -- fear, excitement, lust, frustration. I
reached down and took hold of his swollen penis and guided the head of
his cock between my slippery lips. "Fuck me, so..." I never managed to
finish as John thrust forward and drove his cock inside me, driving
the breath from my lungs as he spread me open.

"God...Oh, Mom!" John sobbed as he slid about half his cock in me, his
body shivering as if he was freezing. He withdrew partway and then
eagerly thrust forward again and then again, making me moan with
delight I never knew I could feel. His writings, imagining that our
coming together would be unique due to our being mother and son...he
had no idea. I'd never felt like this with his father or Benny.

Then John withdrew from me again and in his excitement, slipped from
me completely. He thrust forward his cock sliding along my labia,
leaving a gooey trail of precum and my juices over my pussy lips and
lower stomach. He thrust again, sliding his cock over my right inner
thigh and then as he tried in vain a third time, his body almost
convulsing with frustration, it finally dawned on me that I was my
son's first!

I choked back tears from the knowledge that I was being offered my
son's virginity and leapt into action. I began stroking John's arms
and shoulders, offering little "shhhh, shhhh" noises to calm him down
as I might have done when he was a little boy. My son looked down at
me with a mixture of misery and frustration, but did give me a weak
grin when I gave him my best motherly smile. Reaching down again
between us, I again guided his cock to between my labia and said, "Put
that big cock in me, son...slowly."

Like the obedient son he was, John gently thrust forward, still making
me grown as his cock sank into me -- the thick monster spreading me
and filling like never before. Again after having gotten about half of
his cock inside my cunt, he paused until I murmured in a strained and
excited voice, "All of it, darling. Put all that fine cock in Momma's
pussy."

John began to steadily thrust again and inch by inch, his immense
penis slid deeper inside my pussy, making me moan as he began to touch
places that had never experienced the sensation of cock before. I had
to roll my hips and spread myself wider, but finally I felt my son's
wiry pubic hair entangling with mine - our pelvises grinding together.
"Oh son, that is soooo good!" I crooned, barely able to get my mind
around the fact that my John had his cock buried in his mother to the
hilt.

Out of instinct, John then began to withdraw, but I grabbed his butt
cheeks with both my hands, digging in my fingernails and forcing him
to again cram that big dick into me completely. "Don't move, son," I
gasped. "Rest inside Mommy. Doesn't it feel good?"

"Oh Mom...so wonderful. Your pussy -- it's heaven!" John panted. "I
love you so much!"

I allowed my hands to slid upwards, over John's tight butt and up his
back, finally running one hand through his dark brown hair. "I love
you too, John." I pulled his head down to me and we kissed, slowly,
lovingly as our bodies trembled with the almost indescribable ecstasy
of a fully realized mother and son love.

When our kiss ended, he raised his head enough so that we could stare
into each other's eyes. He smiled as he flexed his cock inside me,
making me groan with pleasure and then he gasped himself as I
tightened my cunt muscles around his thick meat. "I'm your first,
aren't I?" I whispered huskily. When John nodded -- his already red
face growing darker, I said, "I feel so honored...I can't believe I'm
this lucky!"

"I never wanted anyone else." My son shrugged his shoulders and
grinned at me -- I'm not sure whether it was the movement or the smile
that brought me a step closer to orgasm. "I'm glad I waited. I'm glad
I waited for it to be you, Mom!"

I felt my heart swelling with an outpouring of love I never suspected
I was capable of. Trying to not allow my voice to crack, I replied,
"I'm glad you waited too -- I'm just sorry I didn't know earlier." I
reached up and kissed him again -- this time with more passion and
need. "I'll try and make our lovemaking everything you dreamed
of...and more."

My son and I began a long, long kiss, our tongues dancing with erotic
joy. Somewhere in the middle of that lovely kiss, I slowly began to
rock against my son. I dropped my hands again to his ass cheeks,
keeping him firmly inside me, but slowly undulating my hips against
his, taking him even deeper than before and then relaxing just an
infinitesimal bit. As the next few minutes passed as we kissed, we
gradually began to move more -- both of us rocking at first, then I
was allowing him just a little room to move back and forth, permitting
him to give me short, powerful thrusts with his cock -- our kisses
becoming gasping affairs as we attempted to keep our lips pressed
together despite the need to breath and moan with incestuous pleasure.

Gradually, John began to let his instincts take over and he began to
fuck me more fully, falling into a rhythm of long, powerful thrusts,
never completely leaving my pussy, but making me sob with sweet
pleasure as he buried that big cock of his in me again and again. I
pulled my knees back and wrapped my legs around his back, squeezing
tightly to keep him centered. My son showered me with kisses, sloppily
kissing my mouth and cheeks, nuzzling my neck, leaving his teeth
prints there, claiming me, marking me as his woman. My breasts bounced
and rolled as he slammed into me with greater intensity, a wicked
smile on his face as he'd sometimes duck his head to snap teeth at my
nipples.

It was my turn to lose control as my orgasm rose up and took me and I
screamed with carnal pleasure as my son's wonderful cock made me feel
more like a beautiful, sexy woman than I had ever known. The pleasure
was so intense, I could feel my toes curling up and clenching even as
I clawed helplessly at John's strong back. His strokes slowed as my
pussy muscles tightened around his erection, bathing him in steaming
juices, but he never stopped thrusting.

My orgasm peaked and waned, never quite leaving -- remaining a fierce
fire just barely under control and even as I wept, sobbing, "I love
you, son!" over and over, our bodies began to move with greater
intensity and then we were mad fuckers, slamming into each other,
seeking to provide each other with new heights of ecstatic pleasure,
clawing and licking and kissing for long minutes, sweat flying off our
bodies as he buried that wonderfully massive cock in me again and
again until I was again screaming as I shed so many awful years of
sexual frustration, glorying in the unleashing of my spirit in the
throes of being fucked by my child. So many wasted years -- I wanted
to fuck my son forever to catch up on our lost years of incest.

My heart seemed about to explode and I could barely breathe as my
blood caught fire in our familial lust, my orgasm cleansing me of any
doubts or guilt I might have over giving myself to my son sexually. I
was reborn in those moments, suspended in a world of utter love and
lust -- swearing to God in Heaven that I was now and would be forever
my son's lover and then just as I thought I had reached the limits of
ecstasy, my beautiful boy buried his cock deep in me with a thrust
that left me completely breathless and with a primal growl, began to
cum in me!

As steaming semen filled my womb, I had a microsecond of panic -- no
protection, but it was swept away in an explosion of utter and
complete sexual ecstasy and my only related thought as I screamed my
son's name and writhed with orgasmic delight was I'd do anything --
give my son anything so long as I was never deprived his god-like
cock!

As I struggled to breath and wondered if I was dying of pure
incestuous pleasure, my son and I held each other tight, unwilling to
let go of each other as my pussy accepted his sweet gift of his seed.
It seemed the universe had opened up for a moment of complete
enlightenment -- showing us both the truth of beauty and heaven -- a
nirvana that could only be achieved wrapped in each other's arms, our
bodies joined cock and pussy and lips to lips.

After an eternity of glorious pleasure, I found myself atop my son --
his arms holding me tight and his still hard cock deep in my pussy.
Occasional tremors rippled through us -- his cock seeming to briefly
swell and then I would receive a few more precious drops of his semen.
Our chests heaved as we gasped for air -- our efforts to breathe
contributing to our continuing echoes of our powerful orgasms.

"Never dreamed it could be so good," I panted, nuzzling John's neck.
"I think you nearly fucked your mother to death!"

My son laughed and I could hear how pleased he was. "So I take it I'm
not bad for a beginner?"

I raised my head slightly to look my son in the eye. "My god -- if it
feels this good now -- you might just kill me when you're more
experienced!"

John shivered and his hands stroked my body possessively. "No, it will
just get better and better. We're forever, Mom."

We kissed, tongues slithering over one another, feeling each other's
hearts begin to beat faster again and then my son flexed his hips
slightly, forcing the head of his cock to nudge my cervix and it
really struck home. "John...you're still hard as a rock!"

My son laughed and shrugged his shoulders. "I know. It feels like it's
going to explode, but I can't help it. Just knowing my Mom is here,
practically naked with her pussy full of my dick and my cum... Mom I
don't know if my erection is ever going to go down!"

I purred as delicious aftershocks of my orgasm continued...or was it
the early tingles of my next son-induced climax? Slowly I rose up,
sliding my knees forward until I was sitting on top of John, impaled
on his tremendous penis. "That sounds like a dare, young man!" Feeling
more wicked and happy than I could ever recall, I wiggled my shoulders
making my meaty breasts bounce and dance and as I raked fingernails
down my son's muscular chest, hissed, "Just sit back while Momma fucks
you, baby!"

I tried to show my own nervousness as I began to bounce on my son's
erection. It had been a long time since I'd been on top -- a "harlot's
position" as my idiot, soon to be ex, would have said. If I was to be
a harlot -- a whore, I wanted to be a good one for my loving son!

My mouth hung open in an expression of slack-jacked ecstasy as I
slowly slid upwards, leaving John's dick coated with his seed and my
seemingly never ceasing juices...my pussy never feeling so hot and wet
before. Then slowly I would slide back down, unable to stop from
moaning with pleasure as my son's cock spread my cunt wide, filling me
as I had never been filled before. "You're so big, darling!" I moaned.
"Momma loves your big cock!"

Each time I began to ride him a little faster -- the pleasure building
into a frenzy of sexual delight as my body became gleaming with sweat.
The aroma of pussy cream, semen and our combined fuck sweat produced
something that acted as an aphrodisiac, our nostrils flaring with the
distilled scent of carnality and provoking me until I was a wild
woman, riding John's cock with abandonment, my breasts rolling and
bouncing all about until I cupped one and brought it to my mouth,
tonguing and then biting my own engorged nipple as another orgasm
exploded within me.

I remember little for minutes after that...I recall flailing about,
impaled on the long length of my son's throbbing erection! I think,
finally, my heart again threatening to arrest, I collapsed atop my son
while his hands caressed my slick flesh. I think I passed out -- his
still hard cock buried in me firing off overtaxed nerve endings. At
some point I felt myself being jostled and I moaned as I felt my legs
being spread as I was somehow being rolled over onto my stomach. John
made some muffled grunting noises like a boar in rut and his cock
seemed to be slowly rotating inside my cunt -- worming slowly about as
I quivered and writhed, feeling like a rutting animal myself --
spitted above a roaring sexual fire.

My son's strong hands slipped under me and raised me up onto my knees
-- John's hands then sliding upwards to cup my hanging, swaying
breasts, palms scratching my nipples that were so swollen now that
they ached with sweet and intense pain. I awoke as John slowly
withdrew from my cunt until only the swollen head remained lodged
between my battered labia. I mewled unhappily, not wanting to lose the
wonderful feel of his hard cock inside me. I woke up fully as John
lunged forward and I became fully aware as for the first time in
decades, I was fucked doggy style."

"YESSSSS!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, reaching out to grip the
polished wood rim of the ornate headboard to brace myself as my son
withdrew and then thrust forward again. Again, the fiery joy of orgasm
erupted inside me as John began to fuck me hard, the sound of his
pelvis slapping against my meaty hips sounding like a sharp shot
barely audible above my cries of delight. It was hard to believe that
the young man I had guided into lovemaking just a little while before
was now mastering his mother with his cock -- fucking me hard,
claiming me like a great beast claims its mate -- driving that cock
into me, making me cum and cum until my voice was hoarse from screams
of pleasure and tears of pure sexual bliss poured from my eyes.

I pushed back, almost knocking him over in my desire to know my son's
cock was going ever deeper inside me, making me feel more like a
woman...a man's woman than ever before. Again, as that mammoth cock
sawed in and out of me, I felt like my body and soul had been
incinerated and then reborn. I was a new woman...my son's woman --
wanton and carnal. My old life was an empty and happily forgotten
shell and the rest of my life would be dedicated to pleasing and being
pleased my only child...my son...my John!

Orgasm followed orgasm as John plowed his cock into me like a
relentless fucking machine -- my pussy afire with pleasure, bathing
his massive penis with hot cunt cream as I howled like a banshee being
consumed by flames of carnal passion.

My son leaned in, his chest, hot and sweaty and feeling delicious
against my slick skin and hugged me to him, thrusting his cock deep
into me as he pulled me upright, making me shiver with delight as he
kissed my neck and panted, "God, I love fucking you, Mom!"

As I was replying, "I love being fucked by you, son," John thrust
upwards and began cumming inside my womb again and my words collapsed
into incomprehensible screams of orgasmic delight. An sweet eternity
seemed to pass as we were coupled together in the throes of our
incestuous passion, his cock filling my cunt with a seemingly endless
flood of fiery semen and I had never felt so safe and satisfied as I
did wrapped in my son's arms, impaled on his loving cock.

Again, reality seemed to wink in and out as I was transported to a
dream world that consisted of John and myself -- a place where
everything was simply the totality of our love and desire for each
other. At some point, I imagine we collapsed on the bed and fell
asleep -- our passions sated for the immediate moment. I might have
whimpered in my sleep when John finally softened enough to slip from
the grasp of his mother's sperm soaked pussy, but when I awoke in the
wee hours in the morning, I was comforted by its still considerable
heft nuzzling my still quivering labia.

I must have stirred enough to wake my son because he pulled me tighter
against him as we spooned and he sleepily murmured, "You're still my
girl, aren't you, Mom?"

I sighed happily and wiggled against my son's warm body and replied,
"Oh yes, darling. Momma's your girl forever and ever!" I felt his lips
kiss the nape of my neck and I immediately slipped back into wonderful
and wicked dreams.

In the morning, we woke both starved for food and for each other. We
attended to our bodies' needs -- winding up in the kitchen where we
devoured the somewhat burned meatloaf that I'd cooked for him the
night before. I sat naked on my son's lap, his cock pulsing between my
legs reminding me of last night and of nights to come.

My pussy ached from the wild sex we'd had the night before, reminding
me of how tender I'd been when I'd lost my virginity to his father on
our honeymoon. It pleased me now to think that I'd again been a virgin
of sorts...a virgin bride of incest that had been deflowered by my
son.

After we'd eaten, John took me to the room I had dubbed the Shrine
Room. My son nodded and said, "That's a good name for it, Mom. It is a
shrine to you and all my hopes and dreams and fantasies for us! I
always viewed it as a temple where I could come to worship the goddess
that holds my heart."

Standing in the middle of the Shrine Room, I ran my arms up and around
John's neck and rubbed myself lewdly against him, loving the way his
cock stood up proudly between us -- still sticky from our lovemaking.
"I like that, son. I like being your goddess."

John kissed me, taking his time and as our tongues danced, so did we,
moving slowly to a tune only the two of us could hear. I restrained
myself from climbing up my son's muscular body and impaling myself on
his cock right then and there -- instead letting him show off his
icons of mother-son incest.

The huge blow-up photograph of me in my bikini and halter top he'd
swiped from the house long before he'd left home. "I can't tell you
how many times I jerked off to that picture when I was a kid," John
told me. "Heck, I yanked off the day you came out of the cabin wearing
that little number. I'm surprised you didn't notice me walking around
all day with a big boner!"

The paintings had both been done by a friend he'd gone to Northwestern
with -- a now fairly successful artist who shared some of my son's
passions in life. "For Mike, it was...is an aunt of his. He showed me
some of his sketches and paintings he'd done of his aunt -- imagining
her in the nude. I knew I had to have him try his hand at capturing
you in the nude."

"And us together," I said, sidling up beside him and taking his hard
cock in my hand while he brought his arm around my shoulder and cupped
a breast. "Your friend does good work!" I said as I slowly stroked his
cock, making gooseflesh pop up on his flesh.

He showed me his collection of incest pornography -- the professional
stuff, some of which I would come to appreciate -- especially seeing
my resemblance somewhere between Kay Parker and Honey Wilder. John
would come to show me his collection of amateur computer porn --
dozens of videos, mostly American, but many European, depicting mother-
son incest and focusing on couples that resembled us. Most were just
straight up fictional couplings, but John confided that there more
than a few that he believed might be real mother and son couples. "I
think there are a lot more guys worshipping their mothers out there
than most folks imagine," he said solemnly before grinning down at me
and saying, "Some of us take worshipping at the alter of mother love
seriously!"

Eventually, we wound up in the recliner, me sitting in John's lap as
we fondled and kissed and talked about the future. I made clear to my
son that I had closed the door on my old life and that he was now and
forever at the center of my new one. We discussed my impending divorce
and agreed that there was no need to return to Florida other than to
take care of closing out the details of my old life.

As talk faded and we grew closer to the moment of making love again, I
did say, "There is something I think we need to do, if it can be
arranged."

John raised an eyebrow as his hands teased my wet flesh between my
legs, fingering my pussy while a thumb rubbed gently and sweetly over
my clit. "Whatever you want, Mom."

I wormed my away around so that we were both facing the same way,
rising up and spreading my legs above his cock. I leaned my head back
against John's shoulder and slowly impaled myself on his wonderful
motherfucker of a cock, letting out a long moan and then once I had
taken all of my son's erection inside my pussy, said, "Do, ummm, you
think your friend Mike could paint a portrait of us fucking?"

John groaned and teased my ear with his tongue while his hands began
squeezing bountiful handfuls of my breasts and replied, "Oh god,
yesssss! Mom, It's like I died and went to heaven."

As I slowly worked myself up and down my son's cock, my already
sensitive flesh making me quiver with carnal delight, I kissed my
son's jaw and said, "No, better than heaven, baby. It's Momma's love
and it's Momma's hot pussy!"

I felt the recliner tilt back so we were lying nearly prone, my pelvis
working back and forth, allowing my son's huge dick to worm in and out
of his mother's lovingly hot and wet cunt and the world become a
jumble of images -- my son around me, under me and in me combining
with the lewd and lovely painting of us and of me, which blended in
with the thick, arousing scent of sex -- pussy juice and sperm and
lovemaking sweat which joined our moans and cries of pleasure and
built into a crescendo of orgasmic ecstasy that once again left me
full of my son's thick semen and gasping for breath.

We remained coupled for what seemed hours -- alternating between
fucking and talking -- planning our future together. It hardly seemed
possible. Three days before, I was an unhappy wife and mother on the
verge of marital disaster and now I was renewed, madly in love with my
own child, abandoning all my morals and beliefs for something that
outshone anything I ever could have conceived. My future...the future
of my son and I together beckoned to us and in the storm of incestuous
orgasm, I truly believed anything was possible.

#

And so my new life began. John stood beside me in a Pensacola
Courtroom six months later as the judge made final his decree. He
found that I was entitled to seventy-five percent of the house and
that Benny wasn't entitled to any spousal support. "Trust to the Lord
to provide," he told my ex-husband in a wry voice. Benny had been
somewhat agog at my appearance -- no more dowdy and modest clothes for
me. I was wearing a white silk dress with a diving neckline and a
short hemline, showing off my voluptuous breasts and my good legs.

Benny was wide-eyed with disbelief when outside the courthouse, in
celebration of my divorce, my son gave me a long and passionate kiss,
followed by slipping an engagement ring on my finger. I'm sure my
asshole ex still tells people I'm some kind of incestuous whore. What
do I care...it's actually kind of the truth.

A month after that, I married my son in a religious ceremony -- not
valid in the law's eyes, but I feel safe in believing I have the
Lord's blessing. I was happy changing my name back to Harper -- now
part of that happily married couple, John and Cassie Harper that live
an idyllic life in Chicago, although in private (and sometimes in
public), John still calls me Mom and why not? I am before anything
else, John's mother.

It thrills me to know that there are folks that know the truth -- that
our love runs deeper than most couples -- that we share a familial
link that transcends normal love. Even our devoted doorman knows the
truth and how could he not? It was only a month or so after my son and
I became lovers that we came home from a late dinner and dancing cheek
to cheek at a bluesy jazz club, both of us horny and unable to wait
for the elevator.

In the elevator alcove, John's hands had scooped my meaty breasts out
of the top of my halter dress top, leaning in to kiss me as he pinched
and pulled at my nipples. After unleashing my son's cock from his
trousers, I squatted down and began to suck John's cock like a woman
starved for cum and out of the corner of my eye I saw Anthony pass by,
smiling as he tipped his cap to us both. Thankfully, no other resident
passed through or called for the elevator as I couldn't wait and I
didn't rise up until my mouth was overflowing with my son's semen. As
we finally stepped into the elevator, John's fingers underneath the
hem of my dress, fingering my dripping wet pussy, Anthony called out,
"Have a lovely night, Mister and Missus Harper." I was scooping a
dribble of thick white sperm back into my mouth as I smiled at the
doorman before the doors closed.

Later, I asked John whether he worried about the doorman saying
something, but my son smiled and informed me that he'd helped
Anthony's daughter get into Northwestern and both a niece and cousin
now worked for the company thanks to him. "We could fuck on top of the
lobby desk and Anthony would just cheer us on."

Another person that knows the truth about this mother and son is the
artist, Mike who happily agreed to do another portrait. It took a
great deal of time and a lot of posing on our part, but it was time
well and enjoyably spent. On the first anniversary of us becoming
lovers, we hung a new painting in the Shrine Room. It is the largest
of them all and very powerful. John sits on a straight-backed wooden
chair and I am sitting in his lap, facing forward, my legs draped over
his thighs and my toes rising up off the floor.

My son's immense cock is buried three quarters of the way inside my
spread wide pussy and my head is thrown back against his head -- my
face a perfect expression of total and complete incestuous ecstasy!
Mike's talents are evident in every brush stroke as he made it look so
much like the real thing, capturing everything perfectly -- from the
glittering of our juices on my unruly black bush to the illusion that
my nipples are about to burst in arousal. Most of all, the portrait
somehow conveys the love that's between my son and me. Mike said our
love for each other radiates off of us and its arousing in its
intensity. I take him at his word. For every lovely orgasm we had
during the sittings for our portrait, he jacked off an equal amount of
times. I say a prayer for him every night -- that he might know our
joy with his own aunt.

As for us, we want for nothing, but even if we were reduced to rags,
John and I still have each other. Our love sustains us and takes us
places I never imagined we'd go. I know it's an uncertain world, but
the one thing I will never doubt is my son's love for me. If ever I
should, I need only visit the Shrine Room. The truth of the love my
son and I share dwells there.

The End