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Author's Note: This story is an incest story with graphic and explicit mother and son sex. If you are offended by incest, please read another story. Thank you for opening my story.

While asleep on the couch of her son's house, Violet surprised her son at Halloween with an unexpected visit. When Jason arrived home drunk and horny after celebrating his birthday with his friends and strippers, he confused his mother for his wife. With her welcoming her son's sexual advances, Mama Violet gives her son a trick and a treat.

# # #

Albeit, something out of the ordinary, it was a Halloween much like any other Halloween except with me visiting my son, Jason, his wife, Tamara, and my two grandchildren. I'm Violet Christine, Jason's mother. Normally, I vacation with them for week in the summer but, this year, Tamara asked me to come again over the Halloween weekend to see their kids in their costumes and to take them trick or treating. Since Halloween was my son's birthday anyway, wanting to surprise him, instead of mailing him his gift, I'd buy his gift there and give it to him in person.

"Violet? Can you visit for Halloween? I could use your help with the kids. You could take them trick or treating while I pass out candy. They'd be excited for you to see them in their Halloween costumes," said my daughter-in-law Tamara.

How could I say no? I loved my son's children, my grandchildren. It would be fun to take them trick or treating something I haven't done in years, when my son stopped going trick or treating when he turned 13-years-old. I remember the conversation we had when he suddenly turned into a young man instead of a boy.

"Jason, why aren't you wearing a costume to go trick or treating," I remembered asking him so very long ago?

He made a face, rolled his eyes, and sighed as if I told him to put his Game Boy down and eat his vegetables.

"Halloween is for kids, Mama," he said.

Yet, even though he was suddenly too old for Halloween, I cherished the memories I had of him in costume. I cherished the memories of him coming home with a bag of candy that we went through together to make sure it was safe to eat. Now I get too relive those precious memories with my grandchildren when taking them trick or treating. I get to relive those memories when passing out Halloween candy to the trick or treaters in costume. I was excited to spend some quality time with my grandchildren over Halloween.

"Sure. I've love to spend Halloween with you, the kids, and my son. It will be fun passing out candy after taking the kids trick or treating. I haven't done that in years, since Jason was a boy," I said remembering my son always wanting to dress like Arnold in Terminator. He loved Arnold Schwarzenegger. "I'll be back and Hasta la vista, baby," he said every morning before heading for school.

I couldn't wait to take pictures of my grandchildren dressed in their Halloween costumes to show all my friends back home. I couldn't wait to take photos of them in their Halloween costumes and show them to my hairdresser, my manicurist, and my workout buddies at the gym.

"Granny Violet! Granny Violet," said my grandchildren running to me to give me hugs and kisses as soon as they saw me getting out of my car in the driveway.

With Halloween a big holiday for Tamara and for the kids, like me, a holiday celebration she never had as a child, she decorated her house in black crepe paper and orange balloons. She had ghosts, spiders, and witches hanging from her porch. Filled with candles that created scary shadows, the interior of the house was decorated too. Something they'd hopefully take with them with fond memories and copy when they're married with children, the kids loved the Halloween decorations. She had a small table and chair in readiness to pass out candy to trick or treaters.

A combination Halloween and birthday surprise for my son, something I haven't done in years, he didn't know that I made the long drive to celebrate Halloween and his birthday. Only, under the light of a full moon, All Hallows Eve, feeling the accompaniment of spirits, it was an eerie night. As if I was Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, I felt as if a witch was peering into a crystal ball and casting her wicked spell over mother and son.

I remembered a poem by Lizette Woodworth Reese.

Two things I did on Hallows Night: -- Made my house April-clear; Left open wide my door To the ghosts of the year.

Then, one came in. Across the room It stood up long and fair -- The ghost that was myself -- And gave me stare for stare.

With the reemergence of my sexual desires for my son and his sudden incestuous lust for me, I felt controlled. I didn't know that this holiday would change our lives forever. Something that I had been longing to happen for years, I didn't know that my last minute, surprise visit would transform our relationship from mother and son to incestuous lovers.

# # #

"Where the Hell is he? Why hasn't he called? Maybe something happened to him," said Tamara while pacing back and forth with worry while talking to herself.

The only time she stopped pacing was to peer out the window to look for his truck.

'Stay out of it. He's married now,' I thought. 'He's a grown man and this is between him and his wife. As long as he supports his family and is a good father, what he does in his free time is no longer any of your business.'

I remembered how his father would disappear with his friends and leave me alone to care for Jason. Sometimes, he wouldn't come home until the next morning. Sometimes he wouldn't come home for days. Then, when he finally found his way home, making no excuses and giving me no explanation, always, he came home drunk.

Jason was lucky he wasn't in an accident while driving drunk. He was lucky he didn't kill himself or anyone else. He was lucky he was never arrested for driving under the influence of alcohol. He was lucky I didn't leave him. Only, even though I hated my husband and he despised me, a woman on her own in a man's world, I had no place to go.

While waiting for their father to arrive home, I played Halloween games with my grandchildren to occupy them. I didn't want Tamara to unduly upset them with her impatience and her foul mood. Knowing my son wouldn't miss his own birthday party, seeing his children in their Halloween costumes, and taking them trick or treating, I knew he'd be home soon.

"Have you tried calling him," I asked giving my daughter-in-law a supportive smile?

She turned to me, rolled her eyes, sighed, and made a face in the same way that my son used to roll his eyes, sigh, and make face at me whenever I suggested he'd do something.

"Call him? I called him a dozen times," she said with attitude. "My calls go to voice mail. I have no idea where he is or what he's doing. He could be anywhere and doing anything," she said turning to look at me as if his disappearance and absence was my fault. "He could be in a ditch dead, in a barroom drunk, or shacked up with some whore he paid for the night," she said as if that wasn't the first time that happened.

She surprised me when she confessed that my son had been with prostitutes. Not giving me a chance to protest my outrage or my assurance that he wasn't with some whore, she turned to glare at me again as if his drinking and bad behavior was my all fault. Yet, admittedly guilty for sexually teasing him, incestuously enticing him, and having forbidden sex with him when he was 21-years-old, I was ready to accept some of the responsibility but not all of the blame for my son's bad behavior. With his father a drunk, sadly, my son was a drunk too.

Who knows? With me not good at raising a child alone, maybe my son's bad, drunken behavior was my fault. A child raising a child, it wasn't easy raising him as a mixed-race, single mother in a poor neighborhood in Detroit. Unlike rich white, children named Brett, Todd, Buffy, and Mindy, who are pampered all their lives and attend the best schools, growing up poor wasn't the best start for a child.

We never had any extra money to do anything but to buy food, put gas in the car, and pay our rent and the utilities. Always staying close to home, barricading our front door and staying away from windows, we lived like rats afraid to go out for fear of being prey upon by gangbangers with guns, drug dealers, and pimps. Back then, long before they started cleaning up some of the neighborhood streets in readiness for their big riverfront project downtown at Atwater Beach in Detroit, it wasn't safe to go out, especially at night.

"Hey baby, where you goin'? Bring that black ass over here. I gots somethin' big and hard for you," said one black man or another who'd strip me naked, and rape me.

In the way my father did with my mother, if I gave them the chance they'd inject me with a needle, hook me on drugs, and hire me out on the street if I gave him the chance. I once knew a vice cop who said that he met some of the nicest people working vice.

'There go I before God,' I thought while glad that I didn't turn out like my mother.

Yet, the apple doesn't fall from the tree. With me already having forbidden sex with my son and yearning to have sex with him again, in the way that my mother was a prostitute, I was an incestuous whore. A product of my environment, I didn't know any better than to do what I was taught to do.

# # #

Not knowing what to say or what to do, I continued suggesting the obvious.

"Is there someone else you can call to track him down, a friend, perhaps," I helplessly asked?

As if she had been silently sobbing, she looked at me with tired, red, and sad eyes.

"I tried that," she said shaking her head. "I called all his friends. My calls all go to their voice mails. He probably went out drinking with them to celebrate his birthday. He does that monthly, sometimes weekly," said Tamara with a shrug while making excuses for my son, her husband.

Then, she fell silent while staring out the front window in the darkness as if she was waiting for and expecting him to somehow magically appear through the darkness of night.

"I'm sure he'll be home soon," I said gently rubbing her back. "Maybe he had to work late," I said making excuses for him again. "Did you try his office?"

She glared at me again before returning to stare out the living room window while the kids watched Halloween cartoons and Michael Jackson's Thriller.

"Even though I know he's had sex with prostitutes and strippers, he's a good provider and a good father to his kids," she said with resignation as if talking to herself. As if she needed to reconfirm her justification to convince herself to stay with him, she said that as if trying to make herself to believe it.

I don't know why I thought that, call it a mother's intuition, but it was then that I realized my son didn't love his wife. Having learned from my bad experiences with men, if he loved her, Jason wouldn't treat her in the way he had been treating her with his drinking and cheating. If he loved her, he'd be home with his family for Halloween and for his own birthday party instead of out drinking with his friends. If he loved her, he'd be taking his children trick or treating instead of leaving everything up to her.

Excited by the prospect of having a romantic connection with my son, it was then that I realized that my son was still in love with me, his mother. When he couldn't marry his mother, he looked for and found Tamara, a beautiful, mix-race, black woman, who was my physical clone. When he couldn't have sex with his mother, he found a woman who looked like me, walked like me, talked like me, laughed like me, and had a sexy and shapely figure like me.

As if I had given birth to her, as if she was my daughter, instead of my daughter-in-law, Tamara was my clone in the flesh. Looking at Tamara was like looking at myself in the mirror. The daughter I never had but always wanted, she more looked like my daughter than she looked like my daughter-in-law. Making myself dizzily delirious with incestuous delight, I had a sinking and sickening feeling that my son imagined having sex with me when having sex with his wife.

'Jason must think of me when kissing her, touching her, feeling her, and making love to Tamara. He must think of his mother when fucking his wife. He must think of me when she sucks his cock and he cums in her mouth,' I thought.

Like mother like son, having had the same sexual attraction before, in the way that my son was sexually attracted to women who look like his mother, I've been sexually attracted to men who look like my son. In the way that some men are attracted to women who look like their daughters, their sisters, their mothers, their mothers-in-law, or their sisters-in-law, it's not uncommon to have incestuous, sexual fantasies about the women they know. Rather than having incestuous sex with a blood related relative, they live out their sexual fantasies of incest by finding their clone.

# # #

It was after two in the morning when his headlights lit up the living room where I was sleeping on the couch. I heard his truck pull in the driveway, his door close, and my son unlocked the front door and stagger inside. Obviously, like father like son, he had driven home drunk. Luckily, he made it home alive. He made it home safe. He was lucky he hadn't killed himself or someone else. He was lucky that he wasn't arrested for driving under the influence of alcohol.

'What's wrong with him? He has a good job and a new truck. He has a nice house in a good neighborhood. He has a beautiful and supportive wife by his side and two, beautiful children,' I thought. 'Living the American dream, he has everything that I never had when I was his age.'

With me having a short marriage, just long enough for my husband to give his son a last name, he left me and our son not long after I had his baby. He never loved me. After impregnating me, giving him some credit, he did the right thing by marrying me and staying with me but not for long. Running out on child support, he left us to fend for ourselves. While my grandmother watched my baby, it was up to me to support the both of us while working full-time and going to school nights to earn my college degree.

'Jason is everything to his wife that I never had,' I thought while wishing I had a man like my son in my life. 'Nevertheless, he needs to get his act together, if not for himself or for his wife, he needs to be more responsible for his children. No child wants to grow up without their Daddy,' I thought. 'Just as no woman wants a drunk for a husband, no child wants a drunk for a Daddy.'

Ready and excited to surprise him, my son didn't know that Tamara had invited me to stay with them overnight for Halloween. When he didn't show up for his planned, birthday party and to take his kids trick or treating, he didn't know that his wife left him in frustration and took their kids to stay with her mother. He didn't know that I was sleeping on the couch. I wanted to surprise him at the front door with a big, birthday kiss but with him coming home so very late and so very drunk, my surprise was ruined.

Having had a taste of it with Jason's father, I could only imagine Tamara's sorrow. I was angry with my son for disappointing his children and upsetting his wife. He wasn't there to see them dressed in their Halloween costumes and to see their excited faces. He wasn't there to take them trick or treating and to pass out candy. He wasn't there to watch his kids go through their candy. Something he'll never get back, memories he missed, obviously, he'd rather be out drinking with his friends than to be home with his wife and children for Halloween.

Yet, now that I was home alone with my son, thinking that they were gone forever, my forbidden, incestuous, sexual feelings returned even stronger than before. Suddenly, wanting to suck him and fuck him, I was so horny for my son. I wanted to make love to him in the way we did that one-time before he was married. Wanting to give him his birthday, blowjob surprise and show him how much I loved him, I wanted to stroke his cock while sucking his cock before fucking his cock.

Ready for sex, I was as horny as I was sexually frustrated. Forget about surprising him for Halloween and for his 27th birthday, I wanted to sexually tease him. I wanted to incestuously entice him. I wanted to flash him my naked body in the way that I used to do when we lived together. I wanted to have illicit sex with my son.

'Happy Birthday,' I imagined saying before taking my son's cock in my mouth to give him a special, birthday blowjob.

# # #

Now that I was finally alone with him again, daring myself to do so, my perfect opportunity to show him how I felt about him, I wanted to flash him my naked tits and my naked pussy. Forget about wishing my son a happy birthday, with his wife and children not here, I wanted to have sex with him. I wanted to fuck and suck him in the way that I did when he turned 21-years-old. I wanted him to make love to me while kissing me, touching me, and feeling me everywhere.

I wanted him to feel my naked breasts while turning, twisting, and pulling my nipples. I wanted him to fingerfuck my pussy while rubbing my clit. I wanted him to slowly and gently slide his big, erect cock inside my warm, wet pussy and make love to me. Then, humping me harder and humping me faster, I wanted my son to fuck me. I wanted Jason to fuck his mother.

I wanted him to give me multiple, sexual orgasms with his fingers, his tongue, and his cock. Then, returning the sexual favor, I wanted to stroke his prick and suck his prick before fucking his prick. I wanted him to make love to me before fucking me. Then, after he fucked me, I'd blow him. I'd stroke his cock and suck his cock until he ejaculated his incestuous lust for his mother in my mouth and all over my face.

As if I had a fitful sleep, as if I had been tossing and turning all night, in anticipation of my son opening his front door and turning on the light, I kicked off the sheet. While pretending I was sleeping, I closed my eyes, raised my short nightgown to my waist, and spread my legs. With me literally and figuratively exposed and vulnerable, I was so nervous. I was so sexually excited. Just like old times, before he married and left me, I couldn't believe I was ready to flash my son my naked cunt.

Ready to sexually tease him and incestuously entice him, I not only wanted to surprise my son but also, I wanted to shock him. Ready to flash him my black, trimmed, naked pussy, as soon as he turned on the light, Jason would see his mother's naked, glistening wet cunt. A wet, warm place that he once loved to finger, lick, and fuck, albeit only a one-time thing, it made me so wet to know that my son would soon see and hopefully have sex with my naked pussy again.

"I love eating you before fucking you, Mama," he said when I finally agreed to have sex with him. "I can't wait for you to blow me. I can't wait for you to suck my cock. I can't wait to cum in your beautiful mouth and watch you swallow my cum," he said talking dirty to me while sliding a slow finger across my full lips.

Not done exposing myself, just before he opened his front door, I removed my naked breasts from my nightgown top. Jason loved my big tits. Now, as soon as he opened his door and turned on the light, ready to show my son most of my naked body, he'd not only see my naked cunt but also, he'd see my naked breasts too. It made me so sexually aroused to know that my son would soon see my naked pussy, my naked breasts, and my erect nipples.

# # #

As soon as he turned 18-years-old, years before I had sex with him, comforting one another, shocking to some but not to us, I allowed him to sleep with me in my bed. With me so lonely, I was so sexually and emotionally needy. While sleeping, I allowed him to hold me, cuddle me, and spoon me. Enjoying him sexually touching and feeling me as much as he obviously enjoyed touching and feeling me, I allowed him to feel my ass and breasts through my nightgown.
I loved feeling my son's hands on my nightgown clad, nearly, naked body. It made me sexually excited to feel his erection poking against my ass crack while he gently humped me. I swooned when he cupped my breast in the palm of his hand while feeling the heaviness of it. It made me so horny when he touched my ass, felt my ass, squeezed my ass, and slapped my ass through my nightgown.

In the way that he enjoyed feeling and squeezing my nightgown clad ass, he enjoyed feeling and fondling my big tits through my nightgown too. Only, not wanting to get too sexually aroused, wanting to remain in control, I didn't allow him to go inside my nightgown. I didn't allow him feel my naked breasts, finger my nipples, or finger my wet pussy. Instead, giving us both something to masturbate over later while in the privacy of our rooms, I didn't think there was anything wrong with him touching me and feeling me through my nightgown.

"I don't mind you feeling my ass and my tits through my nightgown, Jason, but not my nipples and not my naked pussy. Just as I don't want you to finger my nipples, I don't want you to finger my pussy. I don't want you to touch me beneath my nightgown," I said when he fingered my nipples anyway. A small concession to make, I enjoyed him touching me and feeling me but I didn't want him sexually arousing me. "Okay," he said removing his fingers from my nipples.

If it wasn't enough that he was sleeping in the same bed with me while holding me, cuddling me, spooning me, and feeling my ass and tits through my sexy, sheer nightgown, he looked at me with disappointment. He looked at me as if we were at the mall and I didn't buy him a toy. He looked at me as if we were at the grocery store and I didn't buy him the cereal he wanted.

Only, with one thing leading to another, I feared that if he sexually aroused me, I'd want to have sex with him. If he sexually aroused me, unable to control myself, I feared that I'd suck my son and fuck my son. The last thing that I needed was for my son to make me pregnant. Making me no different from the other sexually abused women in my neighborhood, the last thing that I wanted was to have my son's baby.

"Why not? Why can't I finger your nipples, Mama? I love your big tits. Why can't I touch your pussy under your nightgown? I love your wet pussy."

Trying to suppress my sexual arousal from talking dirty with my son, I rolled my eyes and sighed. Just as I'd love nothing more than for him to finger my nipples and perhaps, even suck my nipples, I'd love for him to finger my cunt and perhaps, even lick my pussy. Yet, not fair to either of us, I didn't want to start something that I couldn't finish.

"You'd sexually arouse me if you fingered my nipples and fingered my pussy. I'm allowing you in my bed not for sex but to sleep with me, cuddle me, comfort me, and spoon me," I said wiggling my nightgown clad ass against his pajama clad erection. "I'd rather you just hold me, hug me, and spoon me than sexually arouse me."

Then, returning the favor, when we turned the other way, I spooned him. In the way that he felt my ass and tits through my nightgown, I felt his erect cock through his pajama bottoms. Intentionally sexually exciting him, I fingered the head of his stiff prick and held his big dick in my hand through his pajamas. I knew he'd love me to pull out his cock and stroke him just as I knew he'd love me to suck him before fucking him, but what I was doing was bad enough.

I sexually teased my son. I incestuously enticed him. I flashed him my panties in up-skirt peeks and my naked pussy in up-nightgown glimpses. I flashed him my cleavage and low-cut bra in down-blouse views and my naked breasts in down-nightgown sights. Years before I had sex with him, once he turned 18-years-old, I allowed him to see me in my panties and bra, topless, and even naked, I allowed him to see my naked tits, my naked ass, and my naked pussy. Enamored with my big breasts, my son loved my big tits.

"I love your big tits, Mama," he said more than once and every time he saw my big, naked breasts. Suffice to say, giving us both something to masturbate over, I loved showing him my big, naked tits as much as he enjoyed seeing my big naked tits. "They'd so shapely and your nipples are so big," he said staring at my breasts as if I was a Playboy Playmate and he had never seen naked tits before.

Yet, I knew my tits had a special place in his heart. Something he'd never forget, something he'd always remember, and something he'd masturbate over for the rest of his life, Jason saw my naked tits. My son saw his mother's naked breasts. In the way that he'd be masturbating over seeing my naked tits, I'd be masturbating over him seeing my naked tits.

Ready again to accept my son's big, hard, and erect cock in my warm, wet cunt, as soon as he pulled in his driveway, I fingered my pussy. Wanting to make sure that I was wet enough for him, I rubbed my clit, fingerfucked my pussy, and fingered my nipples while imagining taking my son in my mouth and giving him a Halloween, birthday blowjob. In had been six, long, sexually frustrating years since I had sex with my son. As much as I couldn't wait to fuck him, I couldn't wait to fuck him.

'Happy Birthday, Jason,' I imagined saying while giving him a birthday blowjob. 'Cum, Jason, cum. Cum in Mama's mouth.'

Something that always sexually aroused me, while waiting for him to come inside, I continued fingering my nipples. I wanted to make them as big and as hard as his cock grows big and hard. As much as he loved my big, black tits, he loved my big, black nipples. While imagining my son sucking my big tits and fingering my erect nipples, I pulled, turned, and twisted them to make them as erect as they could be.

# # #

The only thing I knew about my Daddy was that he was a pimp and a drug dealer. As soon as he got out of jail, with him wanting to go back to his old way of life, he was gunned down by those who were in control now. The only thing I knew about my mother was that she was a stripper, a prostitute, a whore, and a junkie who died from an overdose when I was a baby. When she wasn't sucking and fucking customers, she was getting high.

Who knows? Maybe my life would have been different had my father not been arrested after he impregnated my mother. Maybe had he not gotten her hooked on drugs and turned her out on the street to do tricks, she wouldn't have taken an overdose of drugs after delivering her baby. With my Dad on parole and my mother clean and sober, had they turned away from their criminal ways, maybe I would have had a normal childhood.

Not having much of a childhood with no siblings to play with, and with me a mixed-race baby, I had few friends. As much as the black kids rejected me, the white kids rejected me too. The only one who offered me unconditional love, the woman I lived with, was my maternal grandmother. Yet, once I blossomed in a beauty, every man and some women, no mater if they were white or black and rich or poor, wanted me sexually.

'Men are such pigs,' I thought. 'Rather than talk to me, they'd rather strip me naked. Rather than get to know me, they'd rather fuck me. Rather than to ask me out on a date, they'd rather want to see me on my knees while sucking their erect pricks and staring up at them with by big, blue eyes.'

Later in life, my paternal grandmother gave me photos of my father. A good-looking, black man, as good-looking as Denzel Washington, he could have been a movie star. My maternal grandmother gave me photos of her daughter, a tall and strikingly beautiful white woman with natural, blonde hair, blue eyes, and big tits, instead of working as a stripper and a prostitute, she could have been a model. Yet, with drugs and sex the main ways to make a living back then on the dangerous streets of Detroit, with them born poor and uneducated, they both succumbed to their deadly environments.

Perhaps, the reason Tamara asked me to stay the for the Halloween holiday was to help her out with my son instead of with their children. If this was another typical, drunken birthday celebration, then, my son was a mess. Neglecting his family obligations, drinking to an excess, he was out of control. With Tamara taking the kids to sleep at her mother's house overnight, and leaving me alone to deal with my son, he obviously needed my motherly intervention. Only, I didn't know how I'd help him by wanting to have sex with him.

With me a survivor of sexual abuse, I wondered what role I played in damaging my son by giving him incestuous sex. I should have known better than to have forbidden sex with my son. Unable to help myself, in the way that I'm unable to help myself now from flashing him, those who have been sexually abused sometimes become sexual abusers themselves. The only time I felt safe was when in the arms of my son. Suffice to say, if I could have married him, I would have taken him as my husband.

With my father a pimp and my mother as whore, sex was all that I knew. My beautiful, black body was all that I had to offer and all that I had to give in exchange for money. Granted, Jason was a consenting adult at 18-years-old when I started sexually teasing him, incestuously flashing him, and allowing him to sleep with me in my bed but I was his mother and he was my son. Consenting adults and with him wanting to have sex with me as much as I wanted to have sex with him, we didn't have sexual intercourse until he was 21-years-old.

Only, I was lonely and he was there to comfort me. I was horny and, later when my sexually teasing grew to an extreme, and I finally had sex with him, he was there to sexually satisfy me. I needed his cock as much as he needed my hand, my mouth, and my cunt. Yet, now seeing the ramifications of where I went wrong, I wish I had broken the cycle of sexual abuse instead of continuing it with my son.

Nonetheless, whatever part I played, it amazed me how a 27-year-old man could have a problem with alcohol. Other than having sex with me, his mother, I wondered what else happened in his life to make him prefer the bottle to his wife and to his life. When did he start drinking? Why did he start drinking? Was he that unhappy that the only way he could get through his day was to be drunk? With him young, healthy, and strong, no doubt, he could handle poisoning himself with alcohol now but what happens to him later in life if he continues drinking to an excess?

Giving myself some credit, he didn't drink before he was married. With him in my bed, holding me, hugging me, spooning me, and sexually touching me, then with him returning to his room to masturbate, he was happy and sexually satisfied. Was Tamara the reason why Jason needed to drink? Was she as cold in bed as I was hot? Did she say no to sex when I always said yes? Was I the woman that he preferred and really wanted?

After having lived with and survived his drunken father, I wondered if my son was genetically predisposed and wired for drinking. Maybe with his father a drunk, unable to help himself, him being a drunk was a hereditary thing. Tragically, in the way that his father was a drunk, my son seemingly was a drunk too. Only, with me by his side and in his life, I was certain that I could help him. I was positive that if I gave my son love, attention, and sex, he'd turn his life around.

Perhaps, a closet drinker, my son had somehow hidden his drinking from me. Had I not read books on alcoholism, I wouldn't have known that alcoholism is a disease. His father had it and now my son has it too. He needed to go to Alcoholics Anonymous and follow the program. He needed to get help and avoid from the bad influences of his drinking buddies.

Obviously, sadly, and unfortunately, he'd rather celebrate Halloween and his birthday with his drunken friends than with his family. In the way that his grandmother, my mother, would rather get high than to face life, my son would rather go through life drunk. Hard to break the cycle, whether drugs, alcohol, or sex, I wondered if I was making things worse by wanting to give my son incestuous sex. I wondered if my sexually teasing him and incestuously enticing him by flashing him my naked tits and pussy would make him drink even more after I left.

# # #

No longer hurt, having put up with enough, Tamara was angry. Writing him off as a lost cause and with her obviously eying someone else, I could see in my daughter-in-law's eyes that she had already given up on my son. By the late-night telephone calls she received and the whispering she did when on the phone, she was obviously seeing someone else. They lived in a small house with thin walls and hollow doors, and I overheard a few of her sexual conversations. Undoubtedly, it was only a matter of time before they'd be divorced.

"Tell me," I heard my daughter-in-law talking to someone who wasn't her husband. "What do you think of my breasts?" She paused for his answer. "Really? Do you really like my big tits?" She paused again for his answer. "What about my ass? Do you like my big, black ass?" Once again, she paused to hear his response.

Then, she laughed over something he must have said to her over the phone.

"I love it when you finger my pussy while licking my pussy," she said swooning. "I really love your big, white cock and if you were here now, I'd blow you. After I fucked you, I'd suck you. I'd allow you to cum in my mouth and would swallow your cum," I heard my daughter-in-law saying to her lover over the phone.

As shocking as it was disturbing, yet, not hard to suspect, I figured she was having a sexual affair with a co-worker, a friend, an old boyfriend, or a neighbor. I didn't blame her. How could I blame her? I felt the same way when I was briefly married to my drunken ex-husband. Envious of my girlfriends, with them all moving away to buy their own homes, I wished I had married one of their husbands.

Yet, not blaming her, the best thing she could do to save herself and her children was to end their marriage now. With me feeling horny enough and sexually frustrated enough back then, more than once I was tempted to have a sexual affair but I never did. In hindsight, I wish I had left my husband and married someone else. It worked out when he left me and his son for a younger woman, the pig. Obviously, he wanted to be with a teenager. With me in my early twenties and him in his early thirties when he left, he skipped out on child support.

'Good riddance. Bye! Don't let the door hit you in the ass,' I thought when he was packing his bag. 'Asshole!'

# # #

It would serve my son right if his wife was having an extramarital affair. It would serve him right if she left him for another man. We all need love, support, and sexual comfort. If she's not receiving that at home, with her still so very young, so very beautiful, and so very sexy, I understood why she needed a better man in her life. I understood why she'd want a man who loved her enough to cater to her every need and, before she got too old, now was the time for her to do that.

Tamara was an attractive woman. Except for her baggage of dragging two, mixed-race kids along with her, she could have any man. She looked enough like me that she could have been my daughter. We talked the same, laughed the same, walked the same, and had similar sexy and shapely bodies. She reminded me of myself when I was her age.

A mixed-race, black woman, just like his mother, she had the same smile, the same dark hair, the same, big, blue eyes, and the same sexy and shapely figure as me. With her 5'7" tall, about 130 pounds, and with her blessed with shapely C cup breasts, she could have been my younger clone. It was as uncanny as it was disturbing how much we looked alike. Anyone would be hard pressed not to believe that my son didn't marry his sister. Anyone would be hard pressed not to believe that he was looking to bed his mother when he married his wife.

Obviously, my son was trying to find his mother when he found Tamara. No doubt, my son still wanted to have sex with me. With him still sexually wanting me made me sad but sexually aroused at the same time. It was obvious to me that my son loved me but not in the way that a son should love his mother. With me alone with him now, maybe in the way that I had sex with him before, by having sex with him again, he'd be able to go on with his life with Tamara.

Worth the try, I didn't know if it would work. Yet, not such a selfless act, I wanted to have sex with my son as much as he hopefully wanted to have sex with me. Maybe what he needed to continue on the straight and narrow was to have another fix of incestuous sex with his mother. Sounding good at the time, maybe all that it will take would be for me to suck the poison out of his cock, remove it from him, and swallow it.

For my son to start drinking, obviously, he was unhappy. Clearly, my son loved me and not Tamara. His drinking was from his misery, his sexual frustration, and his horniness. Filled with guilt and remorse, I wondered if I hadn't given my son sex back then when we were living together, if he would have gotten on with his life. Instead of living this odd, sexual fantasy of believing that he married the wrong woman, I wondered if he would have married someone else, someone who didn't look like me.

'He needed psychiatric help,' I thought. 'He needed to talk to a shrink about his sexual fascination with his mother. He needed to tell his doctor that he had been sexually abused by his needy mother when allowing him to sleep in her bed and ultimately allowing him to have sex with her.'

It pained me to admit but when I first met her, as much as Tamara was shocked by how much I looked like her, I was shocked by how much she looked like me. I couldn't help but wonder if my son still harbored incestuous, sexual thoughts for me. I knew he was sexually attracted to me ever since he turned 18-years-old but when he married Tamara, I thought that part of his life was over. I thought when we finally had sex that one-time and gave each other what we wanted and needed, we had moved on with our lives. I thought once he married and moved away that our mother and son sexual relationship was over.

When I had sex with my son, his father was long gone by then. When his father left and after my son matured into an adult, his sudden sexual fascination with me blossomed. Obviously, our incestuous, sexual relationship was just beginning. Sexually teasing him and incestuously enticing him, as if it was a game I needed to play, I wanted to see how far I could go in sexually teasing him and incestuously enticing him without crossing the line.

With me an exhibitionist and him a voyeur, not thinking anything wrong with me having some innocent, sexy fun with my son, I enjoyed sexually teasing him. It sexually aroused me to incestuously entice him. I enjoyed the attention he gave me when I flashed him my underwear clad body and even my naked ass, tits, and pussy. Then, when his sudden, sexual fascination went too far and he wanted to have sex with me, a one-time thing, I agreed to have sex with him.

I thought having sex with him that one-time would end his curiosity and his sexual attraction to me. I thought having sex with him that one-time would end my horniness and sexual frustration. I thought having sex with him that one-time would end our sexual attraction to one another. Instead of extinguishing our incestuous fire, us having sex inflamed our sexual lust and incestuous desire.

Clearly, instead of nipping it in the bud, my having incestuous with my son inflamed his incestuous desire for his mother. Moreover, my having sex with my son, inflamed my sexual desire to want to have sex with my son again. Able to control my sexually, incestuous urges by not living with him, as if they dissipated, disappeared, and were never there, I managed to keep my never ending, sexual attraction to my son hidden, until now.
Then, when he married Tamara, my physical clone, it was then that I knew my son still, sexually wanted me. As if we were mother and daughter instead of mother-in-law and daughter-in-law, we looked too much alike for me not to wonder if my son had deliberately looked for his surrogate mother when seeking a wife. I couldn't help but think that he was more sexually attracted to me than he was to his own wife. Perhaps, just a coincidence that he found a woman who looked so much like me but I couldn't help but take notice.

# # #

Long before he met Tamara, Jason always spied on me. As if trying to see me without my clothes, he'd barge in my bedroom without knocking when I dressed, undressed, or barge in the bathroom when I showered or bathe. Admittedly, as much fun for me as it was for him, thinking nothing of it until now, he had seen me in my bra and panties, topless, and naked more than once. Admittedly as horny as I was sexually frustrated, getting in on the flashing fun, sometimes I deliberately, sexually teased my son by wearing a sexy nightgown in front of him without having the modesty to wear a robe.

Sometimes, knowing he'd barge in my bedroom, I'd deliberately allow him to catch me in my bra and panties, topless, and even naked. With us only having the one bathroom, as his excuse to enter my bathroom while I was showering or bathing, sometimes, I'd allow him to pee while I was in the bathtub. Not ashamed and embarrassed then, as I am now, admittedly, I'd stare at my son's cock in the way that he stared at my naked tits. For sure, I was as sexually wicked in my sexual desire as my son was sexually perverted in his incestuous lust.

"Just don't flush the toilet, Jason," I said poking my head out of the shower door to get a better look at his cock and for him to get a better view of my naked body.

I wondered if he returned my flashing favor with his flashing favor. With all the times I caught him masturbating with his eyes closed while wearing his headphones was as if he wanted me to catch him masturbating. With him calling my name while masturbating himself, thinking that he was calling me, I opened his bedroom door. Instead of needing me, as if he deliberately flashed me his prick, he was masturbating.

As if he wanted me to hear him, more than once I heard him call my name while he masturbated. Obviously, he was imagining me naked and having sex with me while stroking his erect prick. More than once, I was tempted to surprise him and barge in his bedroom in the way that he routinely barged in my bedroom. More than once, I opened his bedroom door to watch him stroke his erect prick.

With me so horny and so very sexually frustrated, I'm not embarrassed to admit that I masturbated while imagining my son naked. I masturbated while imagining having sex with my son. Even though it was something that I'd never do, it aroused me sexually to imagine stroking my son's big prick while sucking my son's big prick. In the way that he, no doubt, imagined making love to me and fucking me, it made me sexually aroused to imagine making love to my son before fucking him.

In the way that he barged in on me more than once, wanting to watch him masturbate, I deliberately barged in on him. I not only wanted to see his erect, naked prick but also, I wanted watch him stroke his erect, naked prick. Hoping to catch him stroking himself faster and harder just before he ejaculated, I wanted to watch him cum. A beautiful thing for a mother to see, especially when she knows that her son is masturbating over her, more than once, I saw and watched him cum.

Oblivious to my presence, he'd wear his headphones while masturbating himself. With his eyes closed while stroking himself and calling my name, I'd quietly open his bedroom door to watch. He was masturbating over me, his mother. I couldn't believe my son was masturbating over me in the way that I had been masturbating over him. His cock was just as big and just as hard as his father's big, hard prick.

"Mama, I wish I could see you naked. I wish I could feel and suck your big tits," he'd say every time he masturbated. "I want to finger your pussy while licking your cunt. I want to make love to you. I want to fuck you. I love you Mama. I love you and I want you, Mama."

Able to control my incestuous, sexual urges, I was tempted to strip off my blouse and bra and show him my naked breasts. I was tempted to put his hands on my naked breasts and allow him to finger my nipples. I was tempted to climb in bed with him, wrap my fingers around his prick, and stroke him. I was tempted to help masturbate my son. I was tempted to put my mouth on his cock before sitting on him and inserting his stiff prick in my warm and already wet pussy.

"Mama, I need to make love to you. I need to fuck you," he said again while stroking himself faster and harder. "I need you to suck my cock. I want to cum in your mouth, Mama, and all over your beautiful face," he said as if a looping dialogue. "Fuck me, Mama. Fuck me. Suck me, Mama. Suck me."

He made me swoon by all that he said. He made me so hot. He made me so horny. He made me so wet. In the way that my son wanted to make love to me, I wanted to make love to him. In the way that my son wanted to fuck me, I wanted to fuck him. In the way that my son wanted me to blow him, I wanted to blow him. In the way that we both sexually wanted one another, living with him was so very, sexually frustrating.

# # #

Even though I hadn't yet done anything sexually inappropriate with my son, other than flashing him, it was forbidden enough that I was thinking of doing something sexually inappropriate with my son. Especially when masturbating myself over imagining having sex with him were my horniest times. Yet, what should have made my skin crawl and make my stomach turn, erected my nipples, moistened my cunt, and made me sexually aroused instead. As much as I wanted to fuck him, I wanted to suck him too.

Admittedly, I sexually wanted my son as much as he sexually wanted me. I was as horny and as sexually attracted to him as he was horny and sexually attracted to me. Inevitable for it to happen, it was only a matter of time before we'd have forbidden sex. It was only a matter of time before Jason would fuck his mother and I'd suck my son. Torn between the two, as much as I sometimes hoped having sex with my son would never happen, sometimes, I couldn't wait to have sex with my son.

Instead of submitting to him, instead of having sex with him and getting it over with, I started deliberately flashing my son. A mother flashing her son her underwear and/or her topless and naked body, I felt like such an incestuous whore, but I liked the feeling. The sexual teasing and incestuous foreplay are always much more sexually satisfying than the actual sex. While pretending my flashes were accidental and unintentional, and while wishing he'd touch me, feel me, and fondle me, I enjoyed showing him as much as he enjoyed seeing.

Flashing him not only made me sexually aroused but also gave me something to masturbate over later. Clearly, flashing him not only made him sexually excited but also gave him something to masturbate over later too. Only, a dangerous and sexually forbidden game to play when toying with the incestuous line, flashing him made me want to sexually do more. In the way that he stared at me, obviously him seeing what he shouldn't see of his mother made him want to sexually do more too.

Making my flashing appear unintentional and/or accidental, I'd sit across from him while reading with my knees parted enough for him to see my panties. As much as my son loved my big tits, he loved my panties. Having found a pair of my panties beneath his pillow more than once, I knew he felt my panties and sniffed my panties while masturbating himself. I didn't have to be a detective to know that my son routinely went through my lingerie drawer and my laundry hamper. If he was going to masturbate over me, I wanted to give him something to see as fodder for his masturbation.

It was fun sexually teasing him by flashing him bits and pieces of my underwear clad or naked body. It was fun making him sexually excited by teasing him with down-blouse views of my cleavage and bra, down-nightgown views of my naked breasts, up-skirt peeks of my panties, and up-nightgown peeks of my naked pussy. It was fun seeing his erect prick tenting his pajama bottoms or bulging out his jeans. It was sexually gratifying to know that my son sexually wanted me as much as I sexually wanted him.

While wearing a low-cut blouse, one that showed the tops of my abundant breasts, my long line of cleavage, and my sexy, low-cut bra, I leaned over him while serving him food. Leaning longer and lower than needed, I made sure I gave him a good, long, down-blouse peek of my cleavage and bra. When I wasn't flashing him up-skirt peeks of my panties, I was showing him down-blouse views of my cleavage and bra. Encouraging me to show him even more, taking two to play, whatever and whenever I was showing, he was looking.

Then, taking my exhibitionism a step further, as soon as he turned 18-years-old, throwing all feigned modesty and motherly morality aside, I no longer wore a bathrobe over my nightgown. In the way that I parted my knees to flash him my panties when wearing a short skirt, I parted my knees to flash him my naked pussy when wearing my short nightgown. In the way that I leaned over him to flash him my cleavage and bra when wearing a low-cut blouse, I flashed him my naked tits and erect nipples when wearing a low-cut nightgown. If he wasn't sexually excited enough before, he was even more sexually excited now that I was showing him all that he wanted and needed to see.

Having become expert in the art of flashing, my son had no idea that I was deliberately flashing him. He had no idea that I was deliberately, sexually teasing him. He had no idea that I was incestuously enticing him. He had no idea that I sexually wanted him as much as he sexually wanted me. Yet, having sex with my son was illicitly forbidden. A line that I couldn't yet cross, it was one thing to show my son my naked ass, tits, and pussy but it was another thing to stroke his cock, suck his cock, and fuck his cock.

# # #

Accustomed to him barging in my bedroom when I was dressing or undressing, once he turned 18-years-old, a man now, I deliberately gave him all that he hoped and wanted to see of me. While making my flashing appear accidental while remaining undressed longer, knowing that he would, I'd wait for him to barge open my bedroom door without knocking while dressed in my bra and panties, topless, and even naked. I wanted to show him as much of my sexy and shapely, naked body as he wanted to see of my sexy and shapely, naked body. As much as he needed to masturbate over me, I needed to masturbate over him.

As if he was a deer caught in headlights, mesmerized by all that he shouldn't see of me, he'd stand there staring at all that I was showing and all that he was seeing. Slow to cover up, I made sure he got a good, long look at my naked tits, my naked ass, and/or my naked pussy. Then, when I knew he'd be masturbating with his eyes closed and his headphones on, I'd quietly open his bedroom door to watch him cum.

"You need to knock first, Jason," I said without scolding him whenever he opened my door without knocking.

I didn't want him to knock. I wanted him to continue barging in my bedroom and/or bathroom. I wanted him to see me in my bra and panties, topless, and/or naked. I wanted to show him all of me. As much as I wanted to watch him stroke his big, naked prick, I wanted my son to see my naked ass, tits, and pussy.

Obviously hearing me turn off the water and pulling back the shower curtain, before I even had a chance to grab a towel, he had a knack for catching me just as I climbed out of the shower. There at the right place and at the right time, he had a knack of catching me naked. As I did when he barged in my bedroom, slow to react, giving him plenty to masturbate over later, I made sure that he had a good, long look of my naked tits, my naked ass, and my naked pussy.

"Jason, what did I tell you about knocking," I'd say putting my hands on my hips before grabbing for a towel? "Oh, my God. I'm so embarrassed," I'd say feigning my embarrassment. "I can't believe you saw me naked. Please advert your eyes. Please don't stare at my naked ass, my naked tits, and my naked pussy."

After a while, with him having seen me in my underwear, topless, and/or naked numerous times, not having a problem with it, I was numb to it. It was no big deal for me to flash him my naked tits, ass, and pussy as it was always a big deal for him to see my naked ass, tits, and pussy. With me making the first incestuous move by flashing him, I only wish he'd make the next incestuous move by touching me, feeling me, and fondling me.

After a while, if only for a few seconds, hoping to elicit more of an incestuous response from him, I walked around him in my bra and panties, topless, and even naked. I wouldn't stay like that for long but I remained like that long enough for him to see all that he wanted and needed to see of me to sexually tease him and for him to masturbate over me later. If only he'd make the next incestuous move, I'd make all the other incestuous move.

If only he'd take me in his arms and kiss me, French kiss me, while touching me, feeling me, and fondling me everywhere a son should never touch, feel, and fondle his mother, I'd touch, feel, and fondle him too. If only he'd suck my big tits, I'd suck his big cock. If only he'd masturbate me, I'd masturbate him. If only he'd fuck me, I'd fuck him.

# # #

A woman without a man, I was always so horny. Continually sexually frustrated, I had unfulfilled sexual needs and wanton desires. Still young, attractive, sexy, and sexual, I needed regular sex. I needed to get laid. I need to have multiple, sexual orgasms. I needed a cock to stroke, suck, and fuck on regular basis. Albeit illicitly forbidden, nonetheless, how convenient it would be for my son to willing give me all that I sexually wanted and incestuously needed?

In hindsight, I realized now that I wanted my adult son to see my naked body as much as he obviously wanted to see my naked body. In hindsight, with voyeurism and exhibitionism a two-person game that we needed to play, I realized now that I wanted to see his naked prick as much as he obviously wanted to show me his naked prick. As long as we didn't have sex, I didn't think there was anything wrong with exposing ourselves to one another and flashing one another.

Genetically similar, two peas in a pod as mother and son, I was as horny as my son. I was as responsible for crossing the incestuous line as my son was responsible for crossing the incest line. With us flashing one another, teasing one another, enticing one another, and sexually lusting over one another, I was as needy as my son was perverted. I masturbated over my son as much as he masturbated over me.

I was as sexually attracted to Jason as he was obviously sexually attracted to me. I wanted to have sex with him as much as he obviously wanted to have sex with me. Yet, in the way that he limited his incestuous behavior to flashing me his cock and masturbating over me later, I limited my incestuous behavior to flashing my son my underwear and naked body while masturbating over him later. Even though I would if I could, it was never my intention to have sex with him.

'Fuck me, Jason. Fuck me. Fuck Mama. Stick your big, hard cock in my warm, wet cunt and fuck me. Fuck me, Jason. Fuck me,' I thought while masturbating myself over the thoughts of having sex with my son.

With me flashing him my naked body, had he made a sexual move on me, with me horny enough and sexually frustrated enough to do so, I would have kissed him. I would have parted his lips with my tongue and made out with him. While French kissing him, I would have stroked him. From there, I would have sucked him. I would have made love to him before fucking him. Had he made the first incestuous move on me, taking the onus off me as a bad mother and an incestuous whore, I would have had forbidden sex with my son.

'A mother having sex with her son, what's wrong with me,' I thought while questioning my sanity? 'A son having sex with his mother, what's wrong with him to want to have sex with me?'

Remembering it all now, as if it happened yesterday, the first time Jason saw something of me that he shouldn't have seen, I was embarrassed. I was mortified that my son had seen me in my bra and panties, topless, and/or naked. With us not having any locks on the doors and with him always barging in my bedroom and bathroom without knocking, in the beginning, I felt violated. I felt ashamed. Knowing that he was deliberately trying to see what he should never see of me, I blamed myself for encouraging his sexual, incestuous perversion by flashing him.

Then, as I grew hornier and more sexually frustrated, inflamed by incestuous, sexual thoughts, the embarrassment that I felt before developed and manifested itself into a burning sexual arousal now. I suddenly had a sick, sexual attraction to my son. Now, hoping he'd appear and barge in my bedroom or bathroom without knocking to catch me without my clothes, I felt sexually aroused. As much as he wanted to see me naked, I wanted him to see me naked.

Remaining undressed longer, while knowing that he would, I waited for him to barge in my bedroom and bathroom. I wanted him to catch me in my bra and panties or topless. I wanted him to see me without my clothes. I couldn't wait to masturbate over all that he saw of me. Then, catching him masturbating over seeing me in all manner of undress, I couldn't wait to masturbate over all that I saw of him.

Then, when he married his wife, forsaking me for another woman, a woman who looked so very much like me, I felt rejected. I felt possessively jealous. I was as hurt as I was angry. With the knowledge that I was his mother and he was my son, after he was married, I remember trying to make a conscious effort to dismiss those forbidden, incestuous thoughts.

Even though our exhibitionism and voyeurism episodes were sexual, and even though we had incestuous sex, we both pretended that our mutual attraction wasn't sexual but something else. Even though we both wanted to have incestuous sex with one another and did have incestuous sex with one another once, we pretended that we didn't want to have incestuous sex. In denial over all that we had done to tease one another, entice one another, and sexually excite one another, we kidded ourselves that we were perversely perverted and emotionally disturbed.

'What mother has sex with her son,' I thought? 'What son has sex with his mother? Normally it's the son wanting to have sex with his mother and not a mother wanting to have sex with her son.'

Then, once he was married, making a concerted effort, I remember dismissing those forbidden, sexual, and incestuous thoughts with the knowledge that I was his mother, he was my son, and neither of us thought that our physical attraction was sexual. Only, years later, judging how sexually aroused I felt then, unable to kid myself and dismiss my incestuous desire for my son any longer now, my sexual attraction to him was obvious. Judging by his continual erections whenever he was around me, with him unable to hide his incestuous lust, his sexual excitement for me was obvious too.

Yet, maybe because he was no longer my constant companion, maybe because I'm just lonely and horny and need a man in my life but, whatever the reason, sometimes I still feel a twisted, sexual desire for my son. Now that we're no longer living together in the same apartment, and now that he's married with children, I felt a sense of relief that whatever may have sexually happened between us won't happen now. Still, sometimes when I'm horny, I miss him. I still want to flash him my naked tits, my naked ass, and my naked pussy. I still want to have sex with him.
With my sexual attraction to my son waning and with him no longer there to flash, sexually tease, and incestuously entice, I masturbate much less than I did before. Now when I think of Jason, I think of him as my son and with love instead of thinking of him as my lover and with incestuous, sexual desire. Now the only time that I think of him sexually is when I'm horny enough to masturbate. Even then, most times, instead of masturbating over him, I masturbate over a celebrity or a movie star.

# # #

In the beginning, had I known he was trying to see me naked, I would have been more than embarrassed. I wouldn't have been as obligingly codependent. Denying him the view of seeing anything that he shouldn't see of me, I would have been more careful in what I was wearing and what I was showing. I would have been more than uncomfortable being alone with him. Had I known that he was trying to see me naked, I would have confronted him, had a talk with him about the birds and the bees, and even suggested that he see a psychologist.

Only, horny then as I still am now and in the sexual way that I'm feeling now about my son, I'm the one who needed the mental help. I'm the one who deliberately flashed him, sexually teased him, and incestuously enticed him. My sexual attraction grew once I knew my son was enamored with seeing my naked body. My sexual attraction to my son grew once I knew that he masturbated over me while imagining me naked having sex with me. My sexual attraction grew once I started masturbating over him while thinking of Jason naked and having sex with me.

In had been six, long, sexually frustrating years since I had sex with my son. The only way to quell my incestuous thoughts was to imagine giving him regular hand jobs and blowjobs while rubbing my clit, fingerfucking my pussy, and fingering my nipples. While I masturbated myself, I'd fantasize stroking his cock while sucking his cock. While I masturbated myself, I'd fantasize him making love to me and fucking me while I masturbated myself.

Something that couldn't be denied, I had suddenly developed a strong and overpowering, sexual attraction for my son. With me feeling so very lonely and so very needy, I couldn't sexually remove him from my mind. Every day, I thought of him constantly and continually. Then, with my horniness superseding my modesty and my morality, every time I thought of him spying on me, instead of feeling embarrassed or angry, I became sexually aroused. As much as I wanted him to see more and as much as I wanted to show him more, I wanted to do more than just flashing him.

No longer having motherly thoughts, I knew my incestuous, sexual feelings for my son were wrong and strictly forbidden. Throughout the day, I imagined him naked with a throbbing erection. I imagined him kissing me, French kissing me. I imagined him seeing me naked and touching me, feeling me, and fondling me everywhere he should never touch and feel his mother.

When dreaming about him, swooning over him, I imagined him kissing me and making out with me. Not stopping there in my sexual fantasy of having sex with my son, I imagined him fingering my cunt and licking my cunt while fondling my breasts and fingering my nipples. I imagined him making love to me before fucking me. I imagined myself on my knees and blowing my son while staring up at him with my big, blue eyes as he ejaculated his cum in my mouth.

Just as I knew nothing would ever come of it, I knew those incestuous thoughts were wrong. Yet, they continued controlling my mind. They continued sexually arousing me enough for me to masturbate myself while imagining him naked and having sex with me. As long as I didn't act on my feelings, and as long as I kept my incestuous desires to myself while masturbating, I didn't think my sexual feelings towards my son were wrong but normal.

"Jason, I want you," I'd suddenly say while masturbating myself and when there was no one around to hear me. "Lick my pussy. Eat me, Jason. Make love to me. Fuck your mother. Fuck Mama."

I believed that if I thought it and said it enough times that he'd sexually want me in the way that I sexually wanted him. Only what would I do if he sexually wanted me as much as I sexually wanted him? While imagining having incestuous sex with my son sounded good at the time, yet, unrealistic, it was nothing more than the sick, sexual fantasy of a lonely and mentally disturbed mother to want to have incestuous sex with her son.

If Jason wanted me to have sex with me, would I have incestuous sex with my son? Would I allow him to make out with me while touching and feeling my naked body everywhere? Would I stroke him, suck him, and fuck him? Even though I knew what I was feeling, wanting, and imagining wasn't normal, the only thing I could do and the next best thing to having sex with Jason was to masturbate myself while imagining having sex with my son.

Yet, who could blame me for wanting to have forbidden sex with my son? I was still a child myself when I had him as a baby. I was so young and so emotionally troubled. As he matured into a man, not realizing that he was a horny, young man, I didn't realize that he had been abusing our living arrangements by spying on me and barging in on me while hoping to see me naked. Hoping to see whatever he could see of me, no doubt, to masturbate over later, he always stared at whatever he could see of me while undressing me with his eyes.

Now, forty-four-years-old, and with my son turning 27-years-old today, only seventeen-years-older than my son, now that I'm enlightened with his sudden emergence of sexuality towards me, I was so naïve. Had I known that my son sexually wanted me then, I wondered if I would have done anything different. I wondered if I would have encouraged his perverse, sexual behavior or discouraged it. I wondered if I would have continued to show him all that he was hoping to see of me. I wondered if I would have had incestuous sex with him again.

# # #

With him having a drinking problem and routinely getting drunk, maybe it was my fault the way that he is today. Maybe if I had given him what he sexually wanted, having sex with me more than just that one-time, he would gotten me out of his system and would have been able to get on with his life. Instead of marrying my clone, he may have married a different woman, a woman that he loved instead of finding one who looked like, walked like, talked like, and laughed like his mother.

Maybe from my sexually teasing him and incestuously enticing him, it was my fault that he sexually wanted me. When I sat with my knees parted while wearing a short skirt and with him staring between my legs while hoping to see my panties, perhaps I should have sat more like a lady. Nipping that incestuous behavior in the bud, maybe I should have worn jeans instead of a short skirt.

Instead of walking around him in my short, sheer, low-cut nightgown, perhaps, I should have had the modesty to wear a robe over it. Admittedly, in the way that he was sexually excited to see all that I was showing, I was sexually aroused to know that he was looking. With me his mother and what we were doing was forbiddingly wrong, I should have known better.

In hindsight, with me filled with as much guilt as I am remorse, knowing that now but not stopping me from flashing him again, I shouldn't have flashed my son. I shouldn't have allowed him to sleep in my bed to hold me, hug me, cuddle me, and spoon me while feeling my ass and breasts through my nightgown. Even if it was only one-time, I shouldn't have had sex with my son. Yet, with nothing changed and everything remaining the same, I was willing to have sex with him again as long as he wanted to have sex with me.

'What's wrong with me? Having regrets for flashing him and having sex with him before, nonetheless, I'm ready to flash him and have sex with him again now,' I thought.

Now that I think about it, I must have been driving him mad with lustful thoughts, sexual desires, and incestuous cravings. I only wished I had known the effect that I had on him. Yet, as incorrigible as I am, I wanted to have some sexy fun with him too. A delayed reaction on my part, embarrassed to think that I sexually excited my son then, it still makes me sexually aroused to know now that I did.

Now that I recall, what was I thinking to wear such a sexy nightgown in front of my son. Did I want him to see all that he obviously saw of me? Obviously, I did. Was I sexually teasing him as fodder for me to masturbate over later? Obviously, I was. Clearly, I wanted to have incestuous sex with him as much as he wanted to have incestuous sex with me. Only with neither of us ready to make the next sexual move, neither of us were willing that imaginary, incestuous line.

Yet, looking back at my bad behavior as a woman and as a mother, I was such a whore back then. With me an exhibitionist, willing to flash my body to any man, even my son, I never thought of my son as a man. I never thought he'd be looking and would be sexually aroused by his mother. Once I knew he wanted to see what I was showing, instead of never flashing him again, wanting to flash him again, I sexually teased and incestuous enticed him. I teased and enticed him as much for me as it was for him.

With my nightgown so very transparent, he certainly could see the shape and the size of my big breasts as well as the impressions that my erect nipples made through the thin material. No doubt, with my favorite nightgown so very transparent, he certainly must have seen the dark patch of my pubic hair and the shape of my nearly, naked ass. Now that I remember, with me practically naked, he enjoyed hugging me whenever I was wearing my nightgown. Every time he hugged me, I felt his hand on the top of my nearly, naked ass or on the side of my nearly, naked breast.

Whether deliberately or unintentionally, every time I sat in my short skirt, I flashed him my panties. Every time I sat in my nightgown, I flashed him my naked pussy. Every time I leaned over him when wearing my low-cut blouses, I flashed him my cleavage and my bra. Every time I leaned over him when wearing my low-cut nightgown, I flashed him my naked breasts and my nipples. Admittedly, sometimes my flashing him was deliberately but most times it was innocent.

Now, just thinking about Jason looking at all that I was showing makes me horny. Just thinking about my son sexually wanting me then in the way that I sexually want him now makes me wish I had done more to sexually seduce him. How much worse would he be if I relented and gave him constant and continual sex? Instead of only having sex with him that one-time, I wish I had sex with him dozens of times.

Maybe instead of being worse, he'd be better. Maybe if I gave him all the incestuous sex that he wanted, he'd finally stop sexually lusting over me. Yet, now, worse for a mother to sexually lust over her son than for a son to incestuously lust over his mother, I'm the one who's sexually lusting over him now.

# # #

"I'd give anything for him to kiss me, French kiss me, while feeling my tits, squeezing my ass, and fingering my pussy," I said while touching myself. "I'd give anything to feel his cock, stroke his cock, suck his cock, and fuck his cock. I'd give anything for him to take me, strip me naked, and make love to me before fucking me."

Different now, with me alone, lonely, and horny, I needed a man in my life. I needed sex. I needed to get laid. I needed to stop transferring my sexual feeling to my son and find someone else to love. I needed to stop thinking about having incestuous sex with my son. Yet, I was unable to stop sexually thinking about Jason and wanting to have sex with him.

"I'd give anything to have sex with my son," I said feeling my breasts and fingering my nipples while lying on the couch. "I'd love for him to strip me naked. I'd love him to see me naked. I'd love for him to sexually take me. I'd love for my son to force me while I pretended to resist. Forcing his cock in my mouth to make me suck him before forcing his prick in my pussy to make me fuck him, I'd love for my son to rape me. I'd love for my son to sexually take me. I'd love for my son to give me incestuous sex," I said while waiting for Jason to finally come home.

'Remembering how very many times I flashed him, sometimes without realizing it and other times deliberately when I was horny, I gave him a real, sexy show of my nearly, naked body,' I thought. 'It sexually aroused me to know that whenever I flashed him my nearly, naked body, he was looking, leering, and staring. In the way that I showed him all that he obviously wanted to see, I want to flash him again now,' I thought.

Before he was married, when we were living together as a single mother with her adult son, not realizing that he was always looking, I was oftentimes careless with what he could see of me. It was nothing really big, in the way he sometimes barged in my bedroom without knocking while I was dressing or undressing or barging in the bathroom while I was showering or bathing. It was more the little things I did that obviously showed him all that he wanted to see of me.

While we watched TV with the living room light off, whenever I stood in front of the bright light of the TV, as if being lit up by a group of Paparazzi photographers, he could see right through my sheer nightgown. When I opened the refrigerator door without turning on the kitchen light, he could see right through my thin nightgown. When I pushed open his drapes in the morning, with the sun illuminating me, he clearly could see through my nightgown as if I was naked. I remember him always looking at whatever I was deliberately or inadvertently showing.

He was always watching me, looking at me, and staring at me. He seemingly welcomed any opportunity to see any part of my underwear clad body. He was always as hopeful as he was grateful to see whatever he shouldn't see of my semi-naked or naked body. Obviously, he was as sexually attracted to me as I was sexually attracted to him.

He was such a horny, young man and with women growing hornier as they grow older, I was horny too. His horniness made me sexually aroused. It sexually aroused me that he wanted me. Wanting to sexually tease him and incestuously pleasure him, his voyeurism made me want to be an exhibitionist. I loved showing him my naked body as much as he obviously enjoyed seeing my naked body.

Such a long time, a time before he was dating Tamara, I remember when he was going to the gym regularly and he wanted me to give him a massage whenever he had a sore muscle. At first, I was turned off by the idea of rubbing down my nearly, naked son. I thought of me giving him a massage was his ruse for me to touch him, feel him, and fondle him. I knew what he wanted. He wanted a massage with a happy ending. He wanted a hand job. No doubt, he wanted a blowjob too, if I dared offer him one.

It didn't sexually arouse me the to touch so much of his nearly naked body in the way that it obviously sexually excited him and in the way that it would sexually excite me now. Yet, back then, before I developed strong, incestuous, sexual feelings for my son, him wanting a massage and me giving him a massage was so very innocent, on my part anyway. Yet, as soon as I massaged his back his legs, and his chest, something expected with a testosterone filled, young man, he always developed a big, hard erection.

He'd lay on his bed in just his briefs and I'd massage his back and the back of his legs. Then, as soon as he turned to his back and wanted me to massage his shoulders, chest, and the front of his legs, his erection tented his briefs. As if his penis had a mind of its own, it throbbed and it pulsated. I remember daring myself to touch it, fondle it, and remove him from his underwear to stroke it. Once I saw how big it was and how hard it was, with it pulsating and throbbing as if teasing me, I wanted to stroke him while sucking him.

Instead, pretending not to notice it, yet impossible for me not to see it and stare at it, I imagined his naked cock that night. I imagined wrapping my long, manicured fingers around his hard, erect prick and slowly stroking him. When alone with myself in my bedroom that night, while touching myself, I imagined my son making love to me. With him making me so horny, I imagined sucking my son and fucking my son.

I wanted to give my son what he wanted. I wanted to give him a hand job but I couldn't. I just couldn't give him hand job. How dare I even think of stroking my son's cock? Perhaps, if I had a couple of drinks before I massaged his nearly, naked body, I'd massage his cock. Perhaps, if I had a couple of drinks before I massaged his nearly, naked body, I'd suck his cock too.

Something so shocking, I would have like to make my son cum. Only, with one thing leading to another, every time I massaged him, he'd always be looking for a massage with a happy ending and I'd always be giving him one. From there, it would only be a matter of time before he wanted more. It would only be a matter of time before we'd have sexual intercourse.

"That feels good, Mama. You have great hands," he said. "Whenever you want a massage, I'd be happy to return the favor," he said with a dirty laugh and a sexy look.

'I bet you would, you little pervert,' I thought. 'Yet, who am I kidding, like mother like son, I'm just as perverted as my son.'

In the beginning, never taking him up on his offer of a massage, I always said no. Yet, even though I said no, I imagined my son massaging my nearly naked body. Yet, whenever I refused my son's massage, later that night, while alone in my room and touching myself, I imagined laying on my bed in my bra and panties. I imagined my son touching me, feeling me, and massaging me everywhere a son should never touch, feel, and massage his mother. Then, with one forbidden thing leading to another forbidden thing, I imagined stroking my son's cock while sucking his cock and before fucking his cock.

"Relax Jason," I remember saying while trying to remove the image from my mind of my son giving me a full body, naked massage. "You're so tense."

Only, unable to stop my outrageous, sexual fantasies, I imagined reaching my hand inside his briefs and wrapping my long, manicured fingers around his big, hard cock. I imagined fondling the head of his stiff prick with my fingertips before reaching down to cup his testicles in the palm of my hand. Then, as if I was a whore from Bangkok instead of his mother, I imagined giving him what he wanted, a massage with a happy ending. I imagined stroking him before sucking him. I imagined him cumming in my mouth and me swallowing his cum.

Continuing with a different sexual fantasy, I imagined giving him a full body, naked massage. I imagined pulling off his underwear and seeing his erect, naked cock spring to life. Again, I imagined wrapping my long, manicured fingers around his stiff prick while staring at his swollen dick. I imagined fondling him while stroking him. Then, as soon as he was hard, I imagined taking him in my mouth and sucking him before taking him in my pussy and fucking him.

# # #

Yet, I was the one who was tense, not him. Suddenly, I had the overpowering feeling to inappropriately touch my son in a sexual way. I wanted to feel his cock in my hand, in my mouth, and in my cunt. Whenever I gave him an innocent massage and when he turned to lay on his back, with his erection so big and so hard, I imagined giving him a hand job. I imagined pulling out his cock and stroking him before taking him in my mouth and sucking him. I imagined climbing on top of him and fucking him.

Then, when he complimented me on my hands, making my nipples hard and my pussy wet, I wanted to shock him by showing him not only how really good my hands were but also how really good my mouth was too. I wanted to show my son how only a mother could sexually pleasure her son with her hands, her mouth, and her cunt. I wanted to stroke my son while sucking my son and before fucking my son. I wanted him to cum in my cunt before cumming in my mouth. Yet, every time I had those thoughts, a line that I could never cross, I'd admonish and berate myself for wanting to have sex with him.
'Here I go again. How dare I? What's wrong with me? I'm his mother and he's my son,' I thought.

Finally, I reconsidered his offer for a massage and submitted my tired, aching, and nearly naked body to his strong and sexually exploring hands. As much as I was having inappropriate, sexual thoughts about him, I should have known that he was having inappropriate, sexual thoughts about me too. As much as I dismissed them as soon as I had them, thinking about my son later that night, I masturbated myself over the thoughts of having forbidden sex with him.

If I could have done it over again, exerting more self-control, I should have turned him down when he wanted me to massage him but I enjoyed touching and feeling his nearly naked body. Suffice to say, I should have turned him down when he wanted to massage me but his hands felt so good on my shoulders, on my back, on my butt, and on my legs. Other than feeling sexually aroused, I didn't think anything of it when his hand seemingly, innocently touched the side of my bra clad breasts or came a little too close to my panty covered pussy.

Ashamed to admit it but with him making me so horny, more than once he sexually aroused me by massaging my back, my butt, and the back of my thighs. Embarrassed to admit it but more than once, I wished he'd make an incestuous, sexual pass at me. I wished he'd feel my bra clad breasts, finger my nipples through my bra, and/or finger my pussy through my panties.

When I was really horny, I allowed him to unhook my bra. Once my bra was unhooked, not surprisingly, he seemed to concentrate more on massaging the sides of my exposed, naked breasts than any other part of my nearly, naked body. Whenever he touched the sides of my breasts, his fingers were so close to fingering my nipples. Wishing he'd finger my nipples, if only he knew that I was as wet for him as he was hard for me, I wonder what he'd do differently then.

"Oh, Jason. That feels so good. You're going to put me to sleep," I said hoping to encourage him to continue inappropriately, sexually touching me while I lay sleeping.

With me in the mood, there was a time when I had two glasses of wine and my son convinced me to allow him to give me a naked massage. It was a time when the movie, Full Body Massage that came out in 1995, was released to cable TV years later. In the way that my son had a sexual fantasy for me, and with him always comparing my body, especially my big tits, to her body and to her big tits, he had a sexual thing for Mimi Rogers.

As he did for all of his wives, Mimi Rogers, Nicole Kidman, and Katie Holmes, perhaps because of her big tits, he especially loved Tom Cruise's first wife, Mimi Rogers. Jason was enamored with my big tits. He loved my big tits. He couldn't take his eyes of the impressions my big, erect nipples made through my thin nightgown. Whenever I wore my sheer, sexy, and low-cut nightgown in front of him, he stared more at what he could see of my nearly, naked breasts and erect nipples than he stared at my nearly, naked ass and pussy.

After downing my third glass of wine, I entered my son's room wearing a towel, a smile, and nothing else. As nervous as I was horny, as soon as I laid face down, I undid my towel. I was still fully covered but my towel was loose enough for my son to explore my naked body with his horny hands while massaging me.

I hoped my son would make an incestuous pass by sexually touching my nearly naked body. I hoped he'd cop a cheap feel of my naked ass and/or my naked tits. Then, I remember falling asleep and when I awakened, my towel that covered my naked body was positioned in the opposite way. The tag was on the outside instead of on the inside.

# # #

With me a heavy sleeper, while I lay sleeping from drinking too much wine and from being tired, my son must have removed my towel. He must have seen my naked, black ass and the back of my naked, black pussy. While I lay sleeping, he must have touched and felt my naked, black body everywhere a son should never touch and feel his mother. While I lay sleeping, he must have felt my naked, black ass, fondled my naked, black breasts, fingered my erect, naked, black nipples, and fingered my naked, black pussy. The ultimate flashing scenario, I wish I had been awake to see his reaction to seeing me naked.

Having given men my share of blowjobs, when I awakened I had a familiar and unmistakable taste and odor in my mouth. While I lay sleeping, Jason must have forced his cock in my mouth. With my lips red and a little sore, he must have humped my mouth and fucked my face. He must have forced me to blow him. Another telltale sign, there were droplets of cum on the towel and a few in my hair. While I lay sleeping my son must have ejaculated his cum in my mouth and forced me to have sleeping sex with him.

'I wish I was awake for that,' I thought. 'Instead of giving him a forced, sleeping blowjob, I would have given him a blowjob, he'd never forget.'

Days later, I remembered having a dream of blowing my son. I dreamt of sucking his cock. I dreamt of him cumming in my mouth. I dreamt of swallowing his cum while he felt my big tits and fingered my nipples. I've had plenty of dreams of blowing my son, of him cumming my mouth, and me swallowing his cum but this dream seemed real and as if it really happened.

As if he was my gynecologist, I dreamt of him fingering my pussy, rubbing my clit while fingerfucking my cunt and licking my cunt before fucking my cunt. I dreamt of my son fucking my cunt. In the way my son forced me to blow him, he obviously forced me to fuck him too. With me such a heavy sleeper, especially after having a few drinks, it wouldn't be the first time that I slept through having sex.

'I wish I was awake for that too,' I thought. 'Instead of giving him a forced, sleeping fuck, humping him harder and humping him faster, I would have given him the fucking of his young life. I would have loved him to have given me a sexual orgasm with his cock.'

The thought of my son having his wicked sexual way with my naked, black body was as disturbing as it was sexually arousing. Only, not really sure, I more suspected that he forced me to blow him than I thought of him forcing me to fuck him. I'd never sleep through him fucking me, unless he drugged my wine with a sleeping pill. Perhaps, ala Bill Cosby, that was what he did.

Just as I was wrong to allow my son to massage me, I was wrong to allow him to give me a full body, naked massage. What was I thinking? What did I think would happen? Disgusted, ashamed, embarrassed, and feeling stupid, yet, I was sexually aroused that I may have sucked my son and fucked my son.

# # #

While wearing my short and low-cut nightgown when picking up clutter before vacuuming, I remember that summer before he left for college. He sat on the floor playing video games. With me walking around him without panties and bending at the waist in front of him, I gave him a constant and continual up-nightgown view of my naked ass and my naked pussy. With me bending in front of him, I gave him a constant and continual down-nightgown peek of my naked breasts and erect nipples. Whether unintentionally or deliberately, sexually teasing him, I gave Jason plenty to see and masturbate over later.

Then, with me wearing a short skirt while playing Scrabble or Monopoly and him sitting on the floor in front of me, while he pretended that he wasn't looking, I gave him a continual view of my panties. Not done with showing him just my panties, with me relaxing on the couch in my nightgown, I gave him plenty of up-nightgown peeks of my naked pussy. Then, with him hugging and kissing me in the morning and again at night, somehow, his stray hand always managed to slide down across my nearly, naked ass or somehow feel my nightgown clad breast.

With my son always so touchy and feely, he had a habit of always touching more of me than he should and what was deemed appropriate when hugging me. Only, I never put a sexual spin on him innocently touching me. Now, that I think of it, either he thought I was instigating his sexual attraction by sexually teasing him and by allowing him to touch me and feel me or he thought I was oblivious. Obviously, he was right in both cases. I was sexually teasing him as much as I was sometimes oblivious.

With him being so attached to me and sexually attracted to me, like mother like son, in the way that I was sexually and emotionally needy, I chalked it all up to him being sexually and emotionally needy too. I figured it was my fault that he was the way that he was because he didn't have a Dad. I figured it was my fault for continually flashing him my panties, my cleavage and bra, my naked pussy, and my naked breasts.

I figured it was my fault for allowing him to massage my nearly, naked body. While he felt my naked breasts and naked ass through my nightgown, I figured it was my fault for allowing him to sleep in my bed while holding me, hugging me, cuddling me, and spooning me. While I felt his erect cock through his pajama bottoms, I figured it was my fault for fondling his prick. I blamed myself for everything. Yet, a small price to pay to keep my son safe, I considered his incestuous, sexual attraction as a small consolation that I needed to make.

If allowing him to see what he shouldn't see of me and if allowing him to touch what he shouldn't touch of me, so what? What's the big deal? Better that he's sexually with me than with some disease, carrying whore. At least he was home with his mother and not out on the street doing drugs and committing crimes. Where most mothers fight with their sons, we never fought. Where most sons disrespect their mothers, he was always good to me and respectful of me.

When I think of all the times he must have been staring at my panties in up-skirt peeks and of my naked pussy in up-nightgown peeks, I gave him plenty to masturbate over. When I think of all the down-blouse views of my cleavage and bra, I gave him plenty to see. When I think of all the down-nightgown views of my naked tits and nipples, I gave him plenty to masturbate over. At least he wasn't out there on the dangerous streets of Detroit. Instead, of sexually assaulting someone and/or raping someone, he was home ogling and groping his mother.

If I knew he had incestuous thoughts for me then, I would have been upset. Instead of feeling the sexual arousal that I feel now, I would have been embarrassed and ashamed. I would have thought I did something wrong as a mother. Blaming myself, I would have thought that I encouraged his sexual attraction to me.

Now, over the uncomfortableness of being sexually attracted to my son and him being sexually attracted to me, when sexually thinking about my son, it made me dizzy with incestuous desire. I'm so lonely, horny, and sexually frustrated that if he were here now, especially with his wife not home, I'd show him how I sexually feel about him. I'd allow him to strip me naked, make love to me, and fuck me. Then, as I did that one-time years ago before he was married, I'd suck his cock and allow him to cum in my mouth again.

"Jason? Where are you? Come home. Come home to Mama. Mama needs you. Mama wants to have incestuous sex with you," I said for no one to hear.

# # #

The thought of him dying in a car crash without me ever telling him how I truly felt about him made me sick. I told myself that if he safely came home, I'd tell him about the forbidden, sexual thoughts that I felt for him daily. I hoped that I could ease my guilt for sexually teasing him and incestuously enticing him by him telling me that he felt the same way about me. I hoped that I could ease his guilt for him having those same sexual thoughts for me my telling him that I felt the same way about him.

Yet, now that we're older, perhaps he'd want to act out those incestuous thoughts with me as much as I'd like to act out those sexual thoughts with him. Now that we're older, maybe he'd finally have sex with me again as a way to remove the forbidden, sexual lust once and for all. If he's willing to have sex with me, I'd willingly have sex with him. If he's willing to make love to and fuck his mother, I'd willingly make love to and fuck my son.

'Who am I kidding,' I thought? 'I just want to sexually take advantage of my son now in the way that he sexually took advantage of me when he drugged me and had sex with my sleeping, naked body.'

Where is he? When is he coming home? If only he was here now, with his wife and children not home, I'd sexually seduce him. I'd have illicit, incestuous sex with my son.

"What's wrong with me for having sexual thoughts for my son? We all have forbidden and inappropriate sexual desires, yet I should be above all of that. I'm his mother and he's my son," I said for no one to hear while trying convince myself that what I was sexually thinking was not only wrong but forbidden.

'Maybe because my son is different is the reason why I'm sexually attracted to him,' I thought. 'Every man I've known has taken advantage of me. Every man I've known has physically, emotionally, and financially fucked me over after having sexually fucked me. Jason is a good son and a good man. Even though he forced me to have sex with him while I was sleeping, he'd never hurt his mother.'

I realized that, including my son, every man had sexually abused me. Every man just wanted to see what he could see of my naked body. Every man just wanted a blowjob. With me always so horny while hoping that this man or that man was different, I accommodated them by sucking their cocks while they felt my naked breasts and fingered my nipples. Yet, obviously too much to ask, no man wanted to assume the baggage of a single mixed-race, black mother with a mixed-race child.

After meeting Jason's wife, Tamara, and shocked to see how much she physically resembled me, it was more disconcerting that my son was having sex with my clone. No doubt, whenever he had sex with his wife, I wondered if he thought of having sex with his mother. How could he not think about having sex with his mother when his wife looked so much like me? We more looked like mother and daughter than we looked like mother-in-law and daughter-in-law.

Now making myself crazy with incestuous desire, with it being years since I've seen his cock, I wondered what my son looked like naked. With it having been six, long, sexually frustrating years since we had sex, I wondered again what his cock felt like in my hand, tasted like in my mouth, and felt like in my cunt. It made me wet to think about his face buried between my thighs and his fingers rubbing my clit and his tongue licking my pussy. I wondered what it felt like to have sex with my son.

"Lick Mama's pussy, Jason," I said for no one to hear. "Fingerfuck my cunt. Give your mother a sexual orgasm with your fingers and tongue before giving her a sexual orgasm with your cock. Make Mama cum. Make me cum, Jason. I'm so horny for you. I need to cum."

# # #

In celebration of his birthday, Jason was out drinking again. I took my grandchildren trick or treating while Tamara passed out Halloween candy to the trick or treaters. As usual, when my son didn't come home, my daughter-in-law was home alone with the children again. Suffice to say, she was frantic with worry. Yet, this time, tired of his shit, and with her too angry to be there, she went home to her mother and left me there to face my son.

Unbeknownst to Jason, instead of his wife waiting for him, I was there to celebrate his birthday and to take the kids trick or treating. He didn't know that I was sleeping over. Unbeknownst to my son, an effect of being alone with my son, I was as horny as I was sexually frustrated. As long as he wanted it and as long as he made the first sexual move, I was ready to finally give him sex again.

I was still up watching television but turned it off when I heard truck pull in the driveway. I remained motionless while he fumbled to put his key in the lock and open the front door. Trying to be quiet but being the noisy drunk that he couldn't help himself to be, with him not turning on a light, he must have thought his wife and kids were sleeping.

He didn't know that I was laying on the couch in the dark, living room watching him. Too hot for a blanket, it was an unusually warm October night. He didn't know that I was sleeping in my sexy, short, sheer, and low-cut nightgown.

Hoping he'd turn on the light, encouraging him to sexually seduce me, with my nightgown already raised to my waist and my naked pussy exposed, I was ready to flash him. I was ready to confess my unrelenting, incestuous, sexual attraction to him.

Knowing how much he loved my big tits, before he opened the front door, I pulled my breasts out from the top of my nightgown. Turning them, twisting them, and pulling them, I fingered my nipples to erect them with one hand while rubbing my clit and fingerfucking my pussy with my other hand. Ready to have sex with him, I wanted to make myself good and wet.

Hoping he'd turn on the light, with my nightgown to my waist and my tits on display, I pretended I was sleeping. Fully exposed to my son, should he turn on the light, he'd not only see my naked breasts but also, he'd see my naked pussy too. Only, with him not turning on a light, he didn't know his mother was there. If he thought I was anyone sleeping on the couch, no doubt, he'd think I was his wife.

As sexually aroused as I was horny, I was hot for my son. Desperately, I needed to get laid. It had been a long time since I had a hard, erect cock in my hand, in my mouth, and in my pussy. All the men that I dated, needed a blue pill to have an erection. All the men that I dated didn't care about my sexual needs. They just wanted a blowjob.

Instead of just sucking him, I needed to feel my son's lips and the weight of his naked body on me. I needed him to make love to me before fucking me. I needed him give me a sexual orgasm with his cock and to cum in my cunt before I sucked him and he ejaculated a second load of cum in my mouth, his mother's mouth.

'Happy Birthday, Jason,' I wanted to yell out my birthday surprise as soon as he walked in the front door.

# # #

Instead, I remained quiet while watching him fumble around in the dark. With my eyes already accustomed to the darkness, I could clearly see him with the help from the glow of the full moon. Then, nearly sitting on me, he sat on the couch to remove his shoes. Obviously surprised that he thought his wife was asleep there, I felt his hand on my leg before feeling his hand on my naked thigh and before he touched and cupped my naked pussy.

'My son cupped my pussy,' I thought. 'I can't believe he cupped my cunt.'

My sexual fantasy come true, I couldn't believe he was cupping my cunt. Then, teasing me, he ran a slow finger the length of my pussy slit. A long time coming, I felt his finger part my pussy lips. As soon as he applied a little pressure with his index finger, he entered me. My son's fingers were inside of my wet cunt.

With his fingers now deeply inside me, he rubbed my clit and fingerfucked my pussy. He continued rubbing my clit while fingerfucking my cunt. My son was masturbating me in the way that I couldn't wait to masturbate him. If only Jason knew that he was masturbating his mother, what would he say? If only my son knew that he was masturbating his mother, what would he do? Would he continue to masturbate me or would he recoil in embarrassment?

"Oh, sorry," he said under his breath. "I didn't know you were there," he said with a dirty laugh while continuing to finger my pussy and fuck my cunt with his long, stiff fingers. "I didn't mean to awaken you," he said rubbing me faster and fingerfucking me deeper. "I didn't realize it was so late. Because it was my birthday, the guys kept buying me drinks," he said slurring his words.
As soon as he cupped and fingered my pussy with his right hand, he felt my naked, black ass with his left hand. Only allowing him to feel my naked, black ass through my nightgown when sleeping with him, my son was finally feeling my naked, black ass now. He continued feeling my naked, black ass and squeezing my naked, black ass while masturbating my warm, wet cunt before leaning forward to kiss my pussy and lick my naked, black pussy. No doubt, thinking that I was his wife, my son was eating me while reaching up to feel my tits and finger my nipples.

'Oh, my God. I don't believe this. A longtime coming, Jason is not only masturbating me but now he's eating my cunt,' I thought with sexual excitement. "My son is giving me oral sex."

Then, parting my legs, he pushed my left leg to the floor and moved his face between my legs. Obviously, determined to make me cum, Jason continued eating my cunt while fingerfucking my cunt. I couldn't believe my son was eating my pussy. Licking me faster, he rubbed my clit harder and fingerfucked me deeper. He continued licking me while fingering me. Then, he reached up with his other hand again to fondle my naked breasts and finger my erect nipples.

'Oh, my God,' I thought while enjoying every second of him touching me, feeling me, fondling me, and groping me while eating my cunt, fingerfucking my cunt, and fingering my nipples. 'This is unfucking believable. Something I'll remember for the rest of my life, I don't believe this.'

As if I was a man and he was a woman, I put a heavy hand to the back of his head and mashed his face in my wet, warm pussy. I held him there while moving his face up and down and side to side. As if I gave him my version of a cum bath, I wiped my vaginal secretions all over his beautiful face.

Remaining quiet, not saying a word, or making a sound, I didn't want my son to know that he was eating his mother. My son continued rubbing my clit and fingerfucking my pussy while licking me faster and harder. My son was eating my pussy. I couldn't believe my son was eating my pussy. With him continuing to lick me harder and lick me faster while fingering deeper, it wouldn't be long before I had a sexual orgasm.

Now, in the way that I couldn't wait to give him oral sex, I couldn't believe Jason was giving me oral sex. Yet, not wanting him to know it was me that he was eating, not wanting him to stop fingering me and licking me, when I was ready to cum, I put my hand over my mouth. Yet, as soon as I had an orgasm from his fingers and from his tongue, not allowing me to enjoy the afterglow of sex, he mounted me.

Jason was ready to make love to me. He was ready to fuck his mother. I reached down for my son's big, stiff prick and quickly inserted him in my pussy.

'Fuck me, Jason. Fuck me. Fuck your mother. Fuck Mama,' I so wanted to say.

Yet, not wanting to ruin the sexual moment and my Halloween, birthday surprise, I continued to remain quiet. I wonder what he'd say when he discovered he had sex with his mother instead of his wife. I wondered if he'd be sexually excited or ashamed. Hoping for the former instead of the latter, I hoped this wasn't another one-time sexual thing. Now, that he finally had forbidden sex with me again, I hoped he'd have incestuous sex with me all the time.

Then, when he tried to kiss me, I turned my head away. I so wanted my son to French kiss me but I figured as soon as he kissed me, he'd know that I wasn't his wife. He'd know that he was French kissing his mother. Yet, obviously too drunk to know, he turned my head back to him and parted my lips with his tongue and French kissed me anyway. Kissing me and kissing me, my dream come true, my son, my beautiful boy, continued French kissing me and making out with me while touching me and feeling me everywhere.

# # #

Something I dreamt about while masturbating myself, my son was making out with me while making love to me. Then, with him humping me harder and fucking me faster, instead of making love to me, he was fucking me. Jason was finally fucking my cunt in the way that he did so very long ago. I returned his hard, fast humps with my hard, fast humps and, as if we were a fucking machine, we fucked one another. My son fucked his mother and I fucked my son.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and wrapped my long, shapely legs around his back. I needed to cum. In the way that he gave me a sexual orgasm with his fingers and his tongue, I needed him to give me a sexual orgasm with his cock. Not stopping him, when we were close to cumming together, I allowed him to cum inside of me. No longer able to get pregnant, what did it matter? He couldn't impregnate me. Yet, if only Jason could give me a baby, I'd allow him to give me a child.

As soon as he ejaculated his cum inside of me, not giving me a chance to enjoy the afterglow of sex, he stood. Not wanting him to leave, I reached out my hand and wrapped my fingers around his big, erect prick. In the way that he took my pussy in his mouth, I sat up on the couch and took his erect cock in my mouth. Sucking him while stroking him, I was sucking my son. Sucking him deeper while stroking him harder, I was giving him the blowjob of his young life.

'Finally, I'm sucking my son's prick again,' I thought. 'I can't wait for him to cum in my mouth. I can't wait for him to give me a cum bath. I can't wait for him to cum all over my face, in my hair, and across my naked breasts.'

"Cum Jason. Cum in Mama's mouth," I said temporarily removing his prick from my mouth to speak. "I need to taste you. I need to swallow you but save some cum to give me a cum bath too," I said before taking my son's stiff prick in my mouth again.

Intent on giving my son the best blowjob of his life, a better blowjob than his wife had given him, I couldn't wait for him to cum in my mouth. I couldn't wait to swallow his cum. I couldn't wait for my son to give me a cum bath. As if proving that he still sexually wanted me, I needed him to give me a cum bath. I needed him to cum all over my face, in my hair, and across my naked breasts.

It took all the self-control I had not to tell Jason that he had made out with his mother. It took all the self-control I not tell my son that he had eaten his mother's pussy and fucked his mother. It took all the self-control I had not to tell my son that his mother was blowing him and not his wife.

Yet, not wanting to ruin his birthday, Halloween surprise, I wanted my son to cum in my mouth. I wanted to swallow his cum. Then, if he had any cum left after cumming in my pussy and in my mouth, I wanted to give me a cum bath. I wanted him to cum all over my face, in my hair, across my naked breasts.

I sucked his cock deeper while stroking his prick harder and faster. I gave my son the best blowjob I had given any man. Then, in the way that I had put a heavy hand to the back of his head, he put a heavy hand to the back of my head. He humped my mouth and fucked my face while I continued sucking him while stroking him. I made all those cocksucking, slurping sounds that all men loved to hear to prove that the woman was enjoying sucking their cocks as much as the men are enjoying having their cocks sucked.

"Suck my cock. Blow me," he said. "I need to cum in your beautiful mouth, Mama," he said.

As soon as he said that he wanted to cum in my beautiful mouth, he exploded a load of warm, oozy cum in my mouth. Instead of sucking him dry and licking him clean I pulled him from my mouth and as soon as I did, he ejaculated a third load of cum all over my face, in my hair, and across my naked breasts. Now I wondered, did he know it was me blowing him or was that something he said when Tamara was blowing him?

He shocked me that he knew that it was me. How could he know it was me sucking his prick? Maybe with Tamara looking so very much like me, it was okay for her to have her husband pretend that he was having sex with his mother instead of with his wife. Maybe his wife called him to warn him that I was there waiting for him to arrive home. Maybe he called his wife to apologize for missing his own birthday party and for having missed taking the kids trick or treating for Halloween.

"I love you, Mama," he said.

Stunned, I didn't know what to say but what I said.

"I love you, Jason."

# # #

Suddenly, as if it was daylight. The overhead living room light illuminated us as if it was the sun. It felt as if a nightclub was closing and they turned on all the lights before asking everyone to leave. I wondered who turned on the light. I wondered if my son turned on the light to see my naked tits and my naked pussy. I'd happily show him whatever he wanted to see of my naked body.

Only, it wasn't my son who turned on the overhead, living room light. It was my daughter-in-law. She was in the living room with us. Tamara saw us naked. She saw us having sex. She saw me giving my son, her husband, a blowjob. She watched him cum in my mouth and all over my face.

"Jason! Violet! Oh, my God! What the Hell are you doing? This is so gross. This is so nasty. This is so disgusting, a mother having sex with her son and a son having sex with his mother. I can't believe what I'm seeing," she said with anger.

Wearing the evidence of my son's incestuous lust, I had Jason's cum all over my face, in my hair, across my naked breasts, and even in my ear. Tamara looked at us as if we were drunk, crazy, or a combination of both. Going from darkness to light, if it wasn't enough that she saw me sucking my son's cock, in that perfectly timed moment she saw my son cum in my mouth before cumming all over my face. She not only saw me give my son a blowjob but also, she saw her husband give his mother a cum bath.

"Get out! Get out of my house, the both of you. Get your things and just go," she said screaming and slapping Jason across his face while pushing me. "Get the fuck out!"

Quickly becoming sober, Jason confronted his wife.

"I'm not leaving my house. I'm not leaving my kids," he said.

As if she had suddenly lost her mind, Tamara laughed out loud.

"Your children? The children aren't your children, Jason. You're such a moron. How could you be so stupid? You were never sober long enough to make me pregnant. You were never sober long enough to get an erection," she said. "You've been drunk our entire marriage.

He looked at her through alcohol glazed eyes.

"What do you men the children aren't my children," he asked incredulously?

She jabbed him in his chest with her stiff index finger.

"My old boyfriend from high school fucked me whenever you were out drinking, which was nearly every other weekend. With you always leaving me for your friends, I was always lonely and horny. Tommy took care of my sexual needs. He fucked me and I sucked him," she said looking at my son while waiting for him to formulate an answer in his alcohol pickled brain.

Then, when he didn't respond, she continued her tirade.

"Unlike you, my so-called husband, the man who married a woman because she looked like his mother, he made sure that I was never horny or sexually unsatisfied. He fucked me good and he fucked me hard. He was the one who made me pregnant with both of my children. I'm leaving you for him," she said. "Now you can go back to living with and fucking your mother," she said giving me a dirty look while waving her hand at my son. "Bye. Bye."

# # #

Finally, with the charade over, no longer hiding our sexual feelings for one another, Jason returned to living with me. Only, different this time, instead of living like mother and son, we lived like man and woman. We lived like lovers. We lived like husband and wife. Not only did we sleep in the same bed but we had incestuous sex.

Leaving Detroit behind, we moved to where no one knew us. Instead of sexually teasing one another and incestuously flashing one another. We made out with one another while he touched and felt my naked body everywhere. We had incestuous sex. He licked me and I sucked him. We made love. We fucked.

Never horny or sexually frustrated again, we sexually satisfied our every sexual craving. He gave me as many sexual orgasms as I gave him. Then, every Halloween, as if that fateful day was our anniversary and our freedom to live the way we wanted and deserved to live, we celebrated October 31st by staying in bed and having sex. Then, climbing out of bed, showering, and getting dressed in costume, before the doorbell rang, we passed out candy as if we were an old married couple.

"Trick or treat. Trick or treat," said the trick or treaters.

Instead of hiding our sexual passion for one another, we embraced our true feelings for one another out in the open. Soulmates, he was the man I yearned to have and I was the woman he always wanted. Instead of being miserable, we were happy. With me looking younger and him looking older, no one suspected that we were mother and son. Instead, looking at us as if we were a happily married couple, they were jealous of our close relationship.

Please vote. This is a Halloween Contest story. As if your vote is my applause, please vote.

THE END