|[Story Name]||I married my mother|
|[Author]||John I. N. Cest|
My mother's name is Mary. In December 1970, at sixteen, she discovered she was two months pregnant. She met her boyfriend at high school. They had dated for three months before she finally gave in to his constant pressures to have sex with her. Their first and only time together resulted in my conception. I was born in July 1971. By the time of my birth, my father had abandoned my mother and claimed I was not his child. It was not true, of course. My mother lost her virginity to that man, my father, and had never had sex with another man until we began our romantic affair.
Embarrassed that my mother had gotten knocked up, my grandparents moved her from Chicago to a quiet little town in Southern Illinois, Alton. In Alton, I was born and raised until I was 17. My mother and I lived with my grandparents until my mother decided to pack up us and move us back to Chicago. She was 35. She raised me, her only child with utter devotion to my well-being. She went to college and medical school in St. Louis while her parents cared for me. She became a doctor and practiced family medicine in our small town so that she could give me a better life than she had. She worked hard and toiled constantly. All for me. She never complained as near as I can tell.
Her demeanor was mild. She never yelled at me or spanked me. From early on, she taught me by reason and example. She treated me with more respect as an individual than most parents did and always encouraged my interests. My interests were not in sports but in science. Today I am astronomer and I owe my scientific nature to my mother. We moved to Chicago so I could go to college at the University of Chicago. By this time, money was not an issue for us. No longer poor, we lived a modest life. We never lived extravagantly. But then, we were never wanting either. My mother is an extremely responsible and resourceful woman.
My mother never dated while she was raising me. When I ask her why now, she says that she only had time for her little boy. That to be distracted by other things such as dating would detract from my development. I didn't have a father, so I could certainly not afford to have my mother go missing. She believed a parent should spend as much time with her child as possible, and so she did. In the process she sacrificed a lot of personal happiness for me. I did not appreciate this as a child. But for that sacrifice, I love her more than any other person on earth, including my own children.
Ours is a love affair borne of devotion, her devotion to me, and over time, my devotion to her. Our relationship developed into something most intimate and beautiful. Neither of us can be away from each for long. Our hearts long to be with other. I am in love with my mother and have taken her as my wife. We are raising our three children now. I am twenty-nine, have only slept with one woman, and will die, having only loved her, Mary, my mother.
I was in love with mother as early as I can remember. She was always strikingly beautiful. My friends' mothers were not at all attractive. My mother's hair is beautiful, shiny strawberry blond, almost red. It has always had a natural curl to it. She has always worn it just below her shoulders, and never tied back. Her hair frames her delicate face, which is accentuated by her piercing green eyes. Her lips are not overly full, but they are not thin either. She stands 5'7". She has always maintained a girlish firm figure, even after four children. Her breasts are perfect 36C. She is now 46. She looks 35. Her face is still wrinkle free and there is not a hint of gray in her hair. Her skin is smooth, milky and soft, as I always remember it. She is the most beautiful and sexy woman in the world. She dresses with impeccable style.
Can you see how it is that I have always loved Mary? When I was seven, I told her I was going to marry her and take care of her forever. Although the innocent comment of a child, I never stopped believing it. Over time, when other guys my age were dating, I would stay home with my mother. I never thought about girls because I was always thinking of my mother. I still am.
MY FIRST ORGASM
When I was twelve, I had my first orgasm. I woke up, early in the morning, to find a dampness in my crotch. At first I thought wet myself. But I noticed that the wetness was sticky, and it certainly didn't smell urine. Afraid, I called to my mother. She rushed in at the sound of my frightened voice.
"I think something is wrong with me," I sobbed.
The look of alarm was apparent on her face. "What is it?"
"I wet myself, I think. But I don't know what it is."
"Let me see," she said.
She pulled back the sheets. There was no puddle. "Let's have a look." She gently peeled back my pajama bottoms and underwear. Immediately a smiled crossed her face. "It's ok, baby," she whispered.
"What is it?" My fears began to subside when I saw mom's face.
"You had an orgasm," she said matter-of-factly.
"An orgasm?" I was puzzled.
"Come, strip these off, I will explain it to you tonight, after school. Don't worry; it is nothing to be alarmed about. It means you are becoming a man." She smiled and kissed me on the cheek.
She knew how to make me feel good. My heart was bursting with love for my mother.
That evening, my mother explained sex to me in a plain and frank manner. She told me about erections and the vagina and semen. And that sex is an expression of love between a man and a woman, and that babies are made from this act.
"There is much more to sex than just intercourse," she explained.
"Like what?" I was curious.
"Well that you will find out when you become older. But if you ever have any questions about sex, please come to me, first. Your friends will just confuse and misinform you."
"Mom? Can I ask you one more question?"
"Go ahead honey."
"Well, you said that sex is the ultimate expression of love between a man and woman."
"Yes, dear, that is true."
I asked somewhat sheepishly. "Well, you said I was becoming a man. And...Well you know I love you very much."
"Yes dear, I know." She prodded, "What is it?"
"Well...can we have...sex? Sometime?" The look my mother gave me told me that I had said something wrong. I immediately lowered my eyes.
"Honey, sex is for two people who love each other like a man and wife. Not like a mother and son. I love you too. Very much. More than anyone else in my life. But you are my son. We should never have sex."
"But, mom," I protested. "I love you. I don't understand. You are so beautiful. And you are good to me. I can't imagine ever loving anyone as much as I love you. I don't understand why that love should be excluded from this sex thing."
Clearly struggling for words, she just left it as, "That is the way it is." (Later I found out that she could think of no good reason either why a mother and son should not have sex, other than the legal reason. It didn't seem satisfactory to her at all.)
My mother's frankness about sex was wonderful. She treated me with respect and recognized my intelligence. She knew that evasions did not work with children. From that day on my curiosity about sex was piqued. Quickly my mother became the object of my desire. I masturbated and fantasized about her constantly. She was the only woman I desired.
I was 17 when we moved from our small town in Southern Illinois to the expansive city on Lake Michigan known as Chicago. We took a small flat on the North Side. My mother accepted an offer to practice family medicine at a large area hospital. I was to finish my high school education at a well-known private prep school. My mother and I grew closer as we were alone in our new surroundings. We knew no one in the city. Our evenings were spent at home, filling each other in on our new environs.
I had matured considerably. I was a swimmer and stood at six feet tall. I weighed a little over 160 lbs, my body toned and muscular. My mother says I am handsome. I don't know about that. Girls my age never interested me. The few dates I had had up until then were disasters. I could find nothing but faults with the girls I dated, mostly because they could not measure up to my mother, either in beauty or intelligence.
One evening, after about two months in the city, we were home, still unpacking. My mother was dressed in a pair of shorts and a tank top. She was tanned from the summer and looked fabulous. As usual my attention was on her and not on what I was doing. She says that she always noticed the way I looked at her. I looked at her with a mixture of love, passion and raw sexual desire. It never occurred to me that my feelings of lust were abnormal. I hoped with all of my being that someday we would become lovers. Mary says now that she noticed how strong and handsome I was then. She had her own feelings to. It had been many years since she felt the touch of a man. She says now that she had never met a man as handsome as I was then. Her sexual appetite was as strong as any woman's was. She was thirty-five years young.
That evening I was watching her unpack some glassware in the kitchen. I wasn't watching the unpacking so much as I was watching the way she moved. Her arms and hands were fluid. Her hips swayed like a dancer's as she leaned forward or stood on her toes to reach a high shelf. She was sweating somewhat. We were in the midst of a warm Indian summer. She would smile at me as she worked and I would smile back. I felt like were already lovers, moving into our first house. She asked my opinion on everything related to decorating and I answered like a husband would, trying to appease her every wish.
She was reaching for the top shelf of the cupboards to place a freshly unwrapped glass in its place. I watched her stretch and looked at her ass. Suddenly my fixation was interrupted by a smashing sound of glass on the floor. I saw the shattered glass on the floor and raced to help my mother clean it up. We both reached for the same piece of broken glass and my hand grasped hers. I began to look up at my mother but was transfixed on her chest. I could see down her tank top to the cleavage formed by her breasts. Her bra was holding them tightly to her chest. It was a simple white cotton bra, but it was sexiest thing I had ever seen. My hand remained on hers and I realized she was looking at me. Embarrassed, I finally met her eyes. She was not looking at me with anger or shame. She was not embarrassed. She looked at me with the gentle look of a woman that knew that no matter what torments raged in the world around, she was safe in that house with the only man could take of her.
I stood up and pulled her to her feet. We looked into others eyes for what seemed an eternity. Finally, I brushed her hair back from her forehead. She smiled. It told me everything was all right. It told me that she loved me as not her son, but as a man and a lover. It told me she felt exactly as I did. In that one moment, brief as it was, I knew that we would be together always.
I slowly bent forward and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around me. There was no shame or guilt. Her lips parted and our tongues met. We kissed deeply and passionately. I moved her away from the broken glass and lifted her to the counter. I moved closer and our mouths met again in the most passionate kiss; the kiss of long lost lovers like in a fairy tale. Our breathing became heavy and in between mouth-watering kisses we told each other that we loved the other. My mother moaned and grasped at my body. I did likewise. We kissed for hours. We knew what was to come, but we stayed in the kitchen, bringing our desires to a fevered pitch. My cock was raging with a hard on. I would grind up into my mother as we kissed. She plunged her hips into my hard on and ground her pussy on my cock. I almost exploded in my pants after a few moments of that.
Finally I forced us to part. "I love you mom." They were the first words spoken since the glass broke.
She smiled and looked deep into my eyes. "I love you too, John. Son."
I picked her up and carried her to her bedroom. I laid her on her bed. I sat next to her and slowly caressed her body through her clothes. I started with her breasts. I massaged the firm mounds with my hand. I could feel her erect nipples through her shirt and bra. Her breathing was paced but loud. She looked at me as I fondled her breasts. I wanted to take my time, but soon she was pulling her shirt up over her head. She sat up and unclasped her bra. Her breasts fell free, exposed to eyes for the first time since I nursed on the many years ago. She removed my tee shirt and ran her hands over my chest. I unbuttoned her shorts and pulled her shorts and cotton panties from her hips. As I slid the down her legs, I was met with most intoxicating aroma of her pussy. I smelled womanly and heavenly. I breathed it in which only excited me more. Finally my mother was naked and pawing at my belt. She bade me to lie down which I did. She straddled me, naked, just over my knees. Her wonderful tits hung free, nipples erect. She undid my belt, and slowly unzipped my jeans. She reached her hand inside and began to rub my throbbing cock. My hips thrust forward as I met her hand with every stroke. Finally she stripped me.
I laid her on her back and kissed again, our bodies finally pressed together in nakedness. I slowly kissed my way from her lips, to her neck to her chest, to her breasts. My lips found one of her firm rubbery nipples and sucked it in. My tongue flicked at it back and forth. One of my hands found is way to other tit and massaged it methodically. She moaned and writhed under me and I knew that I was turning her on. "Oh, God, honey that feels so good," she managed to whisper. The heat between us was intense.
I kissed her on mouth again. "I love you, mom," I said again. She knew I meant, "I want to fuck you."
"Yes, honey," she replied. I crawled on top of her, between her legs and placed my cock at her entrance.
Slowly I pushed in. She was wet with desire. My head slid in easily, but it was tight and warm. My mother gasped. I stayed with just the head of my cock in her for a while and we kissed again. Finally I slid it all in. Again I held in her for a few moments while we kissed some more and I fondled her lovely breasts. I slowing began to slide my cock in and out of my mother. Her hips thrust up to me as we settled into a slow but steady rhythm. Our eyes never parted as we fucked for the first time. I could feel every inch of her pussy as we fucked. The walls of her pussy were moist and gripped my cock tightly. I must have only lasted a few minutes when I could feel my orgasm building. My mother's was building too. She whimpered as her breathing became faster. She grasped at my ass with one of her hands and pulled me closer with each stroke into warm pussy.
"I am gonna come mother," I panted.
"Let it go baby," she nearly screamed. With those words I slammed as deep into pussy as I could and shot rope after rope come into my mother. My mother's orgasm began and she let out a loud animalistic groan. I could feel her pussy contract as she orgasmed and gripped my cock tightly. I could not have pulled out if I wanted to, which I didn't. I fertilized my mother's womb with my seed. My orgasm seemed to last to minutes and my mother's even longer. When my cock finally stopped twitching, I collapsed on top of my mother with my cock buried deep in pussy.
We breathed hard for many moments. Finally our breathing slowed and returned to normal. My cock, spent, slipped from my mother. We kissed long and hard. We knew that we would be lovers for the rest our lives. After a few more tender moments, I took my mother's hand and led her to the bathroom. I wrapped her in her robe and started a shower for us.
As the shower warmed, I asked my mother if she had any regrets.
"No, my dear son. I love you more than anything. Nothing in my life ever felt so right. You made love to me. You treated me tenderly and with respect. You satisfied my every urge. Nothing could be more special. I will always love."
"I will always love you too, mother."
We stepped into the shower and I finally had a chance to study my mother's body. She was gorgeous and sexy. I took my time shampooing her hair, and then she washed mine. Her hands were tender as she messaged my hair with love. We soaped each other's bodies and I caressed her tits again. We kissed and she washed my cock. It was hard again. She smiled playfully and knelt down. Our sex life would not be boring and totally with out raw pleasure, I could see.
See gripped my cock in one hand and fondled my balls in the other. Slowing she took the head of my cock in her mouth and flicked it tip with her tongue. Her hand wrapped in a fist around my cock, she slowly began giving my cock a blowjob. As this was my first blowjob (and I suspected it was the first time my mother took a cock in her mouth), I don't know it was a good blowjob or not. I do know that watching my mother's lips wrapped around my cock as she stroked it in and out was the hottest thing I could ever imagine. She seemed to be enjoying herself immensely as evidenced by her greedy moans of "Mmmmm."
I was soon erupting with a giant orgasm in my mother's mouth. She hungrily ate as much of my seed as she could, but much of it ran out of her mouth and dripped onto her chest.
When I finished my monster come, my mother continued to suck on my cock until it went limp. As it slipped from her lips, she smiled up at me and rose from her knees. We embraced and kissed and I could taste myself in my mother's mouth.
"I always wanted to try that," she purred with a hint of erotic playfulness in her tone.
"I've fantasized about that for a long time. I can't believe it came true," I replied. We both knew that this was just the beginning of our new personal and intimate relationship. Sex would be a part of our lives for a long time to come.
We fell asleep shortly after our shower, naked and in love. We fucked a couple of times more that night. My mother discovered she was pregnant with our first child about two months later. Our first baby was born almost nine months to day after our first fuck. We named him John Marion, after us both. He is now 10 years old. We were married in a small chapel in Las Vegas about two months before the baby was born. We've since had two other children together, both girls. Mary Ann is six. Jane Alexandria is four. Both girls look like their mother/grandmother. Our boy looks like his father/brother. We have not told them about our true relationship. I am sure we will someday, but not until they are much older.