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This is fiction. All characters are 18 or over.


I am Doris, and I grew up in a small town. I was the only child of strict, religious parents. My father was a church deacon and my mother taught Sunday school and sang in the choir. Living with strict parents didn’t mean I was abused or anything like that, but it was true that my father ruled the roost and generally expected things to go his way.

He was known for being a disciplinarian at the high school he taught at, but he was even more demanding at home. He had certain standards and routines he expected me and my mother to live up to. Dinner was to be on the table between 6:00 and 6:15 pm and manners were required. No elbows on the table; chew with your mouth closed; and I was only to speak when spoken to. My mother had more liberties, but if she was too conversant or if her husband, Douglas, didn’t care to engage with her, she received a stern glance and that was that.

Dress codes were determined by my father as well. Blouses were to be buttoned to the top and skirts or dresses were to hang at the knee and slips were required as were brassieres of the plainest variety. Perfume and make-up were frowned upon and I was forbidden to date. When I was 17, I asked if I could go to the library with a male friend. All my father said was, “You can date when you move out of my home”

The impact of living with a stern, rigid father and a mousey, submissive mother included being teased at school by all the other kids. I was shy around my classmates and even more so around boys. When I graduated from high school, father forbade me to go to college. He wanted me to work at the bank as a teller where his brother was the manager, and that is what I did. It was there I met Gene whom I eventually married, He was a slender man with wire rim glasses who had been raised as well by strict religious parents.

We dated for three years before we got engaged and that was only after both families had dinner together at Boston Pizza and the two fathers informed us it was time to get married. We had no money for a honeymoon and had to spend our wedding night at the Discount Motel. We didn’t even make love. We did kiss a little and enjoyed the vibrating bed, until we ran out of quarters.

My son, Andy, was born three years later. Neither Gene nor I really knew what to do sexually. I never had any insight into the sex life of my parents, never heard any sounds coming out of their bedroom that hinted that anything physical, much less intimate, was taking place. They were nice to each other, and once in awhile I caught one of them kissing the other’s cheek or noticed they were holding hands, but that was it.

Eventually Gene and I figured it out, obviously, but if we had sex once a month that was frequent to us. I can’t say we had a bad life. Gene was a good provider and eventually took over as bank manager, which meant I could be a housewife and a stay at home mother. I wanted more than that in my life, but I was raised to take direction from the man in the family; so, the only resistance I offered when Gene told me to quit my job was, “Dear, are you sure?”

“Of course,” he said. “Now we can be a real family.” He looked at and smiled and added. “These scalloped potatoes are better than the last batch.”

Our married and family life was rather boring. Both Gene and I were the only child in our family and we never discussed having another child after Andy was born. Andy became my life and while his father was strict, too, Gene was kind. Between the two of us, we spoiled Andy, at least as best we could, given our meagre finances. Both of us went without so he could have nice clothes and good, nutritious food to eat.

For Andy’s 18th birthday, we bought him a used computer. We did worry that doing so might expose him to the ways of the world, but we also knew that having a computer could advance his knowledge and help him get a good job. He was ecstatic and spent hours in his bedroom on the computer; he had just a few friends, but they weren’t close.

Andy had access to information that we didn’t. In addition to being on the Internet, Andy had taken sex education classes at school when he was 17. We were upset about that at first – actually Gene was more upset than I was – but we were also the kind of people who obeyed the rules and sex education was a part of the curriculum and to us that made his attendance a rule that Andy and us had to accept.

To be honest, if I had known how those classes and the Internet were going to change my life and Andy’s, I might have pulled him out of the curriculum and never supported him having a computer. But even so, I wasn’t sure if the life that unfolded between Andy and me was really something I would have stopped – again, knowing (and experiencing) what I did.

One afternoon, I was cleaning Andy’s room and I noticed his computer was on. Andy had shown me how to search on Google for recipes and household tips and I was curious about finding a new recipe for goulash. I didn’t really notice what was on the screen until I sat down. It silivri escort was a page of links Andy had searched for. The search terms he had used were these life-changing words: “mom and son sex videos.” I was in shock. The results of his search had an assortment of sordid titles. All of them had to do with various ways that a mother and son were intimate. I blushed when I read words like “Blow job from my son” or “Fucking mommy in the ass.”

I reached over and nearly pressed the power button, but I didn’t. I know I should have. In fact, that is what I figured all mothers should do before giving their sons a good talking to later. But something stopped me. Right there in front of me was a doorway to new discoveries. I was breathing differently and when I looked down, I noticed that my nipples were pressing through my bra and my blouse. I actually touched the little bump and was surprised by how it felt and then surprised even more when I realized there was a warmth growing between my legs.

I tried to convince myself that I had to click on these links to better understand my son. My body sensations were of interest to me, but I knew they would pass. They always did when I laid in bed with Gene. So, I took a deep breath and clicked on a link and moments later I was watching a woman my age unzipping the pants of who I assumed was her son. I was only able to watch a minute or two but that was enough time to see the young man’s penis in his mother’s mouth and the noises they both made while she did what she did to him.

I should have ran from the room, but I had to see more. The next video showed a young man kissing a woman between her legs. Her vagina was glistening with saliva and the wetness I sometimes experienced with Gene. I watched this video long enough to see liquid squirt out of her as she moaned loudly. I scrunched my nose at first, but then I watched the young man open his mouth.

The third and final video I watched showed the mother on all fours on the bed and her son having sex with her. I couldn’t believe what I was watching. I quickly hit the back-space button when the woman said, “Please, please fuck me in the ass.”

I was about to turn the computer off but realized that Andy might wonder what happened to his computer screen; so, I left it as I found it and ran downstairs, leaving Andy’s room untidy, which I never did. I didn’t know if Andy would say anything about that, but I figured I could make up some sort of excuse if I needed to.

I must have sat in the kitchen for at least an hour reviewing in my mind what I had just seen. I had never seen videos like before. I had heard of pornography and knew it was immoral, but I had no idea what it really was. But seeing such explicit displays were not my biggest issue. What bothered me most was that Andy was watching videos about incest, and it raised questions in my mind about what Andy was thinking about his relationship to me. Did he want to do such things with his mother? Did I raise him wrong? And did my nipples responding as they did and the warmth between my legs mean something I wasn’t prepared for? Was my body sending me a message?

I felt dirty. I took a long shower and paid extra attention to scrubbing between my legs, but all that did was create sensations that I was hoping to avoid. While I dried off, I tried to imagine what I would say to Andy or his father. How could I even use the words to describe what I had seen? I put on my long terry-cloth robe and went back to the kitchen, made some tea, and just sat there in a silent daze. I was alone so I didn’t really pay much attention to how the robe hung. It was loosely tied, and my breasts were partially visible, and my legs were barer than usual. I thought to cover up, but I didn’t. Besides, no one was around to see my brazen appearance.

When I thought about it, Andy had been different since he turned 18. He had become, for lack of a better word, bossy and at times he told me, rather than asked me, to do things for him. They were not bad things. He would tell me to make a certain dinner or tell me he didn’t want boiled eggs for breakfast; he wanted fried. Stuff like that, but his demeanour was less timid or uncertain now than when he was growing up. I just wrote it off the personality of a growing teen-ager.

At one point I opened my robe and looked at my breasts – my large breasts – and was relieved to see my nipples were back to normal. I hadn’t noticed, though, that Andy had come home and was standing in the doorway to the kitchen watching me. I immediately apologized when I caught his eye. I covered up and made some feeble excuse about spilling some tea down my front.

Andy smiled. “It’s ok Mom, I should have said hello when I walked in the house.”

I thought he would leave, but instead he sat down next to me at the table. “I didn’t really see anything you should be embarrassed about. Besides…” his voice drifted off.

I looked at him. “Besides?”

Andy looked nervous. “I meant that what I saw was not a problem for me, mom, şirinevler escort nothing to be ashamed of.”

What did that mean? Even though I was completely covered now, I noticed his eyes were darting between my face and my breasts. It struck me that my son was interested in them. Or so it seemed. That’s when the warm feeling returned, and my nipples grew and all I could do was get up and rush out of the kitchen into the downstairs bathroom.

I stood in front of the mirror and slowly opened my robe and then let it fall off my shoulders to the floor. I had stripped naked before in the bathroom to take a bath or shower, but this time I was seeing myself through changed eyes. I had noticed that the women in the videos had large, full breasts. Mine were every bit as big and they were also firm. I looked down between my legs, remembering that all of the women had no hair at all down there. I had thick hair that not only hid my labia but extended from one inner thigh to the next. I learned later this was called a “bush” and once I heard that I realized how I kept my vagina area was not really the accepted norm – well at least according to men and porn producers.

I had never thought of removing all my hair. I did trim to keep the length at about two inches, but that was it. Gene never really looked down there, much less put his mouth on it like that young man did in the video. That woman’s clitoris was swollen and extended, something I had never seen before. I put one leg on the edge of the sink and reached down and spread myself apart, but I couldn’t really see my clitoris very well to compare it to hers. I fiddled down there for a minute or so – it seemed much longer – but to no avail. What I did notice once I took my hand away was that the tips of my fingers were shining; they were wet.

I blushed. I may have been a life-long prude, but I knew what it was. My vagina was releasing its secretions involuntary. Then I notice my nipples were hard again. I was aroused. It was rather shocking to recognize my state, but my shock turned to downright anxiety when I realized I wanted to know if Andy would like that. Like me being this way.

God, what was I thinking? It was disgusting to think that way, but I put my hand back there anyway and closed my eyes and ran my index finger down the center crease of my privates. My finger slipped inside for a moment and I jumped, emitting a bonafide “eek” as I lifted the finger to my face to see how wet it was.

I placed it near my nose and inhaled. The scent was feint but floral. A droplet was dangling from the tip of my finger and without thinking I stuck out my tongue and wiped my finger off. There really wasn’t enough liquid there for me to taste but the act of licking the secretions of my vagina stirred up the kinds of feelings that mere hours ago I would have attributed to a hussy, a woman with loose morals. I knew I wasn’t that kind of woman, had known that all my life. I was a good person, a good wife and mother, who always obeyed her husband and the rules of the day. Standing naked in front of the mirror watching myself touch my nipples and my vagina was a radical departure from my normal disposition.

That night I did my usual routine. I had dinner ready for Gene when he came home and the three of us sat around the table talking about our days. Gene shared how a homeless woman had come into the bank to get change for a ten-dollar bill. The teller was going to turn her away because she was not a customer, but Gene intervened and took care of her. “I saw no reason not to help that poor woman,” he said. “I did suggest, though, that she not return. I told her I was breaking policy and she seemed to understand.”

“That was kind,” I said.

Andy said, “My father the rule breaker” and chuckled.

Andy talked about looking for work and how hard it was to go into stores and factories only to hear they weren’t hiring. “I don’t think one person came close to smiling at me,” he said sadly. “It was humiliating.” He took a drink of apple juice. “What did you do, mother. I noticed you never got around to straightening up my room.”

Gene shot me a glance.

I could swear Andy had a small smirk on his face. Did he know what I did? Was he trying to get me into a pickle with my husband? I dabbed my mouth with a napkin and smiled at both of them. “Yes, I did start cleaning, but someone rang the doorbell.

“Who was that, mom?”

“Oh, just Gladys from the church looking for volunteers for a fundraiser. We had a nice visit and then I ended up cleaning downstairs. Forgot all about your room, Andy.”

“The house looks very nice, dear, at least downstairs. I trust you were able to get to our bedroom.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Peter sprained his ankle pretty bad the other day.” Andy said.


“That’s her son, Dad.”

“Whose son?”

“Yes, Gladys told me about Peter’s ankle. Gene, Peter is her son.” I stood up and collected the dinner plates. “I have ice cream for dessert.:

“No thanks, şişli escort mom. I am too full now. Maybe later.”

“Two scoops for me, dear.”

“Yes, Gene, of course. Why don’t you go sit in your chair and I will bring it to you?”

Andy helped me clear the dishes and then I retrieved the ice cream from the freezer. It was rock hard, so I ran the scooper under hot water. When I turned, I noticed Andy was standing there, watching me struggle to get the scooper into the ice cream.

“Mom. What was the real reason you didn’t clean my room?”

I nearly had dug out the first scoop for Gene. “What do you mean?”

Andy gave me the oddest smile. “Peter didn’t sprain his ankle.”

“What?” I wiped my brow with my forearm. “You made that up?” I could feel a lump rising in my throat. “You lied to me?”

“I did.”


“You know why, mom.”

I dropped the scooper. Andy picked it up for me, rinsed it off, and finished getting the second scoop into Gene’s dish. I watched him twist and turn the scooper to dig out the ice cream, not sure what to say or do next.

Andy smiled and handed me the bowl. “Better get this to him or he will start bellowing.” He turned toward the hallway, but before he left the room, he looked back at me. “Mom, I am off to study, but if you want to come in and clean, I am okay with that.”

“No, dear,” I replied. “I would never interrupt your studies.”

He didn’t skip a beat. “Well, I tend to study better when my room is clean.”

Most women would be infuriated by such a statement. “Clean your own room,” they likely would have said to their sons. But that was my job. Both Gene and Andy were used to me attending to their housekeeping needs. Yet, Andy had never before been so bold to, in effect, order me to his room to tidy up.

“Of course,” I said demurely. “I will head up after I get this to your father.” I picked up the bowl and carried it to Gene. He looked into it and said, “Dorrie, you know I don’t like vanilla.”

I faked a laugh. “Where is my head? I do have chocolate. Be right back.” To my surprise, Andy was still in the kitchen, sitting at the table. “He wants chocolate,” I said.

Andy was fiddling on his phone. He nodded, but said nothing. I worked on the getting two scoops of chocolate ice cream into a new bowl. “What are you doing?”

“Watching a video.”

“Oh?” I decided it was best not to ask about the subject, but he volunteered anyway. “You might like it,” he said softly.

I didn’t respond. I was hoping that I could get out of the kitchen before things got even stranger.

“Yeh,” Andy continued. “Though perhaps you already watched this one, mother.”

My worst fear had shown its face. Andy knew I had been on his computer and somehow figured out what I had watched. All I could do was stare at him, speechless.

Andy nodded toward the front of my house dress. “You spilled.”

“Oh dear.” I looked down at drippings of ice cream.”

“You should likely change before you clean my room. It’s getting late now so why don’t you put on your robe. You look so…comfy in it.”

I rushed out of the kitchen and brought Gene his dessert.

“You’re the sweetest,” he said, not looking at me.

“I’ve got some cleaning to do upstairs,” I said.

“Yes,” he muttered. “It’s not like you to leave Andy with his mess.”

He was right. I could only remember two times I failed to give Andy’s room its daily cleaning. Both times I was sick, once with the flu and the other time it was some sort of stomach virus. I didn’t know what Gene was thinking, but even if he thought the worst of me, he would have concluded I was just a tad lazy today. He would never fathom I had touched myself in the bathroom after watching pornography on my son’s computer. He would never think that, but Andy had figured it out. And now he wanted me to clean his room in my robe.

I went to my bedroom. I took off my dress. The robe was on the bed. It wasn’t anything special or risqué but clearly Andy wanted to see me in it, and at the moment he seemed to be holding all the cards, so to speak. My bra was bothering me, so I unfastened it and then slipped on the robe and made my way to my son’s room.

The very first thing I saw was him on his bed. He was shirtless and wearing gym shorts. He grunted a feeble hello and I went about my business. I had learned long ago that picking up Andy’s dirty clothes off the floor was most efficiently managed by picking them up daily. I gathered up his food cached dishes and empty pop cans and added them to the garbage bag along with a few wrappers, a broken shoelace, and a few wads of tissues.

“Andy, do you have a cold.” I held the tissues in my hand.

He tilted his head in my direction and I swear he rolled his eyes. “You’re kidding, right?”

That’s when I noticed his penis peeking out the bottom of his gym shorts. It was engorged. It hit me what the tissues were for and I dropped them and just stared at my son’s penis.

Andy was unaware, at least I think he was. He shifted on the bed so that he could look at me directly but when he did, his shorts climbed up his leg and that’s the moment that changed my world. Everything was there. He was totally exposed, his hard penis angled upward, towards me. And beneath, his testicles hung on either side, firm and larger than plums. He had to know what he was doing.

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