‘Just for your pervert of a mother, and now that our sexy little secret is out, I want you to write from a first person narrative what would happen between us if we decided to act on our mutual fantasy and ended up in bed together…’
‘Mom!’ Ben gasped. Tammy was suddenly looking elsewhere, having finally broken her line of sight. The crotch of Ben’s shorts was visibly growing and in his exasperation he didn’t even realise what she had laid eyes on. ‘Are you actually serious?
‘My heart is in my throat saying all of this right now. I’d really love to see you pull out all the stops and reveal the real you. Can you do that for me, soon?’ Ben could only nod, struck dumb and wide-eyed. ‘Go where you want with it, but just base it in the very real reality between us right now. You could either take it right from this very moment in time, or from when we discovered our mutual fantasy,’ she suggested. ‘Start from there and work our way up to your bed or mine. What do you say?’
‘You’re driving me fucking nuts,’ he whispered harshly. Visibly and audibly his breathing was heavier and more laboured. Meanwhile Tammy, astounded by her own sudden sexual liberation and empowerment, was a picture of serene deliberation.
‘I can see that,’ she smiled sweetly. ‘I adore you, you big dork.’
‘You’re too much lately, mom. Are we done here?’ he begged in frustration. Tammy stood up nodding. When he stood up to leave the room, she locked onto him and stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. Evident between them was her son’s tent pole jabbing her comically in the abdomen. She had been bold enough to come this far. Tammy decided that enough was enough, at least for one night.
‘I’ll leave you in peace,’ she said and went to her room.
10
Over the next few days Tammy thought it best to regain some semblance of a normal family home. It felt good to feel the swift return of normality, to be able to return to her usual self as the sexual tension receded. Notably there was a fresh spring in Ben’s steps. The emotional heaviness had fallen by the wayside and their relationship continued almost as if nothing had happened.
But she didn’t see the way that her son was now looking at her when her back was turned or when her attention was drawn elsewhere. He hadn’t done a great deal of thinking about the fact that reality had changed for the both of them, only maintaining the illusion that everything was the same.
Everything was fine. That’s what mattered. Ben was now viewing Tammy in a new light – not just as a mother but as an attractive woman, which he would never have denied – and he was fine with that. As he wrote his story verse for verse every evening, picturing her in a sexual light, she was fine with it and he was fine with it too. She didn’t ask about it. She just knew that eventually he’d come through on his part of the bargain. Wait, what bargain? What was in it for him? Ben had no clue, but he was fine with it.
And almost every night, the two of them were right next to each other, he in his bedroom and she in hers, trawling through Literotica’s extensive archives of related fantasies both at the same time, pleasuring themselves to their favourite stories. Tammy left a new comment every night on all of his past stories…
“I am so wet right now!”
“I wish I was this mother!”
“MORE!!”
And Ben was fine with all of it. He was fine with his mother being just as depraved and perverted a little sex freak as he was. It validated that he was onto something, that these stories of mothers and their sons were as popular as they were for good reason. He was blown away for the most part by just how lucky he was to have a mom who was in love with the same taboo fantasy.
Friday evening finally arrived, the beginning of a weekend that threatened no overtime for either of them, and they sat down to an easy meal, looking forward to a relaxing couple of days to ward off an exhausting week.
‘So what are your plans?’ Tammy asked, carving into her pork chop.
‘I was thinking of just hanging out and doing some reading,’ Ben said before shovelling in a forkful of boiled potatoes and green beans. Tammy coughed, then again. Slow to realise because he was so tired, Ben realised that she wasn’t choking but hinting something.
‘Do I have to ask?’
‘If you want to make sense, yeah,’ he replied, overcome by dull amusement.
‘You should be writing… you know…’
‘Oh that,’ he realised. ‘Finished it yesterday. Thought I’d save it for the weekend.’
‘Send it to me,’ Tammy said, suppressing the urge to grin from ear to ear. ‘I bait my breath, swooning with anticipation.’
‘Funny!’ Ben washed more food down with his glass of milk while he wrapped his head around how absurd it was that this could be so casual now. Then he noticed her staring. There was no smile, not on her lips, but he could see it in her eyes. That look was loaded with things probably best left unspoken.
‘Did you enjoy writing it?’ she asked after some time. Ben nodded, kept nodding, didn’t know how to answer that.
‘No comment, see for yourself!’
At 10pm, Tammy approached her son in his room with a strange request, but one that made perfect sense, and gave away way too much information all the same. He was sitting at his PC, immersed in one of his zombie survival games when she affectionately touched his shoulders and then ruffled his hair.
‘I need you to do something for me…’
‘Yes, mom…’
‘Plug your headphones in for a while!’
As Tammy retired to her bedroom, nothing could hide the fact that she was scared witless as to what was about to happen. Not even teasing her son about it, which she hadn’t meant deliberately, could hide the fear and excitement mingling in her bloodstream, because such was her trembling that her touch vibrated through him. The adrenaline was surging through every inch of her being like the rages of an addiction spiking before the anticipated high.
And on the way out of his room, attempting to reach for the doorknob to close his door behind her, Tammy snatched only to miss and walked into the open door, bouncing back stiffly before trying again. Closing her own bedroom door after that was almost as awkward. Both her arms and legs felt like jelly and seemed to move like them too.
Then possessed by her truest desire, the moment she had waited so long for, she practically threw off most of her clothes other than her matching white bra and panties, and slumped back onto the comfortable bed, iPad in hand, and tried to calm herself with slow, deep breaths, while trying to shake the restlessness out of her fingertips.
Anticipation! Terror! Paranoia! The desire to turn back and run headlong into the cosy old reality where nothing so exciting happened – was it possible to overdose on danger and excitement? Ben too wondered as he sat deciding whether to keep playing his game or to go tiptoe to his mother’s bedroom door to eavesdrop.
Tammy signed into her email account. There it was, another message from Ben Adams waiting for her undivided attention, and nothing was going to stop her, because if she didn’t read it now, it was otherwise inevitable that she would, and because as crazy as this was, the fear, the adrenaline and the taboo was already causing one hell of a damp patch. The tornado of butterflies in her stomach had to be stopped somehow!
11
WE BOTH WANT THE SAME THING by Ben Adams.
Only a couple of verses into my new story you’re already a hot mess, breathing raggedly, hands caressing assertively and shivering shapely legs splayed to either side in the golden glow of your bedside lamp. Your hips roll up to meet the strokes of the wet fingertips invading your panties to swirl around your swollen clit as you read on, lost in the lust-crazed fantasy of you and me, secretly yearning for it to be real!
The crotch of your panties are soaked through and as you tear your eyes away from reading, you look into the mirror opposite and gasp at the erotic sight. You can barely believe that you’re looking back at yourself. The woman in the moving picture, almost a complete stranger, writhes as though taken possession of by some invisible ghost lover, but you’re not.
It’s me, in your mind, and there we are locked together in a tangle of burning limbs as smooth flesh melts in and out of smooth flesh and we dance the dance of love’s consummation. You wanted the fantasy to be real. You wanted me to write this to go beyond the fantasy of a fictional mother and her son having sex together for the first time. You want it to be you and me, realistically, driven to a higher plain of arousal and profound sexual realisation, knowing that I want the same as you.
Louder and faster you breathe and moan, losing yourself deeper in that fantasy, so close to reality. So close because I am nearer than you think, daring to test the strength of our family bond. And in the throes of self-pleasure you imagine no fantasy, but what we could truly be like together.
Is it possible, since I make you this way? Could we one day persuade each other to become lovers as such? In writing this story for you, my beloved mother, I imagine so, because the love and the lust – our shared passion – already existed in this reality.
‘How are you liking the story so far, mom?’ I ask via a text message, delivered with kisses.