Sleeping with my Mother Ch. 01

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Sleeping with my Mother, Chapter 01

Son sleeps in his mother’s bed with his mother.

This is a true story that Roger asked me to write about what happened twenty-five-years-ago between him and his mother, Laura, when he was 24-years-old and his mother was 46-years-old.

Unlike many men, a sexual phenomenon now that was never like this before, many men sexually fantasize about having sex with their mothers. I’ve never wanted to have sex with my mother. I’ve never sexually lusted over her. I’ve never tried to see upskirt peeks of her panties and downblouse views of her bra and cleavage. I’ve never spied on her while she’s dressing or undressing.

I never tried to see her in her panties and bra, topless, and/or naked. In the way that some men are doing today, I’ve never placed a hidden camera in her bedroom to watch her masturbating or in her bathroom to catch her naked. I’ve never masturbated over her while imagining her naked and having sex with her.

I’ve never exposed myself to her while hoping that she’d return the forbidden favor of my exhibitionism with her exhibitionism and expose herself to me. I’ve never deliberately allowed her to catch me masturbating myself and cumming. I’ve never done any of those sexual things that I read about in mother and son, incestuous, porn stories. Having more respect for her than that, she’s my mother and not some whore that I picked up in a bar and brought home for sex.

Yet here I am writing my true story of having a long-term, sexual affair with my mother that happened two-and-one-half, decades ago. It all started when my father left her for a much, younger woman, a woman half his age and young enough to be his daughter. With her traumatically traumatized with the end of their 25-marriage, after she lifted herself up from her self-pity and doldrums, my mother dramatically changed. Seeing the light and understanding the wrong of her ways, fortunately for me, she had a metamorphosis of a sexual transformation.

Not only did she change but everything changed. After my father left her, my mother was never the same. For good or for bad, a totally different woman, she changed from a boring housewife to a sexual sexpot. Her newfound hope for a new life and with a new man, she began her forbidden, incestuous relationship with not just anyone but with me, her son.

By being so modestly moral and such a sexual prude, blaming herself for my father leaving her, who could blame her for such a dramatic change? Nonetheless, my mother felt betrayed. She felt rejected. Had she capitulated to my father’s sexual whims and erotic fantasies, perhaps, they still would have been together. Perhaps, they still would have been married. He’d have no reason to look elsewhere for sexual comfort and erotic excitement because he’d have everything he sexually needed from my mother at home.

After he abandoned her, staying home, hiding, and no longer seeing her friends, she stopped going out and doing all the things that she loved to do. Having never seen my mother cry, I saw her cry nearly every day. She was so sad. She was so depressed. She was so broken, and I’d do anything to help her. Anything.

Looking a bit like an older version of Kendall Jenner but with bigger breasts, my mother is a good-looking woman. She’s tall, 5’10”, and shapely thin with long, statuesque legs. She has C cup breasts and a round, firm, shapely ass. She has long, dark, brown hair and big, expressive, brown eyes. Always looking younger throughout the years, she looked ten-years younger than her 46-year-old age. With her looking 36-years-old instead of 46-years-old, clearly, that wasn’t young enough for him. He wanted a 22-year-old child.

She diets and exercises to stay fit and in shape. She eats all the right foods and never eats junk foods. With her always walking and bike riding, she plays tennis and swims to maintain her sexy appearance and her shapely figure. With her long, well-formed legs, her slim waistline, and her flat, toned stomach, for a mature woman, she still looks fabulous in a bikini.

# # #

“Mom, what can I do to help you get out of this funk,” I asked while not expecting her to answer and/or suggest what I should do to help her?

She shook her head and shrugged. She looked so sad. As if I was somehow responsible for my father leaving, which I wasn’t at all, she made me feel so bad.

“What if we went away for the weekend, just the two of us? We can go anywhere you want and do whatever you’d like to do? We could go to White Mountains in New Hampshire, or the seacoast of Maine, or we can shop all those little stores that you love and that have handmade crafts in Vermont. It’s beautiful there this time of year.”

Looking at me as if she was about to cry, she looked at me with sad eyes. Never have I seen my mother in such despair. So messed up, she was totally broken. The first time seeing her like this, she didn’t want to go anywhere or do anything. How dare my father hurt my mother? If my father was here with me now, hiltonbet yeni giriş I’d punch him in the nose for hurting her and for forsaking her for a 22-year-old child.

‘What’s wrong with him? How dare he leave her for a 22-year-old whore,’ I asked myself without an answer? ‘How could he throw away a 25-year marriage for a woman more than half his age? What do they even talk about? What do they have in common? Other than having sex, what do they do all day? He created and shared so many memories with my mother and now, just a blur, they’re all gone,’ I thought. ‘Everything he built, he ruined.’

Other than wanting to be with a little girl instead of a mature woman, with my mother not talking about it, I had no idea what happened between them. Whatever it was, it was something bad enough to end their marriage. Obviously, he had been cheating on my mother with a younger woman for some time. That may have been plenty enough reason for her to feel used, abused, and betrayed.

‘He’s at the age where he may feel that he hasn’t accomplished all that he wanted to accomplish. As many men do at that age, maybe he’s going through the change of life. Maybe he’s just going through a phase. If that was the case, he should have bought a red convertible and taken my mother with him on joyrides. He didn’t have to have a sexual affair. A real slap in her face, he didn’t have to leave her for a much younger woman,’ I thought.

# # #

“I’m so lonely, Roger,” she finally said confiding in me. “I’ve slept with your father for 25-years,” said my mother finally opening up by continuing to confide in me. I hate sleeping alone. I can’t get used to it. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since your father left me,” she said.

Then, she said the real reason why she was so sad.

“I miss feeling his arms around me, holding me, hugging me, cuddling with me, and spooning me,” she said wrapping her arms around herself while looking so alone. “My life and my bed are so empty without him.”

She started to cry again. This time, instead of crying to herself, she sobbed loudly. Other than just being there, I felt helpless to help her through this. What did I know about love, marriage, and relationships? I was a 24-year-old, single man who had never been in love with a woman, other than with my mother. I felt so bad for her but what could I do to help her? There was nothing that I could do.

“Waiting on him hand and foot to make his life easier, how could he do this to me? How could he cheat on me with a child, a woman even younger than you,” she said? “What’s wrong with him to do that? This would have been our 25th anniversary. I was planning a party, a sliver celebration, but that’s ruined.”

‘What could I do about my mother feeling so sad and so lonely? Thinking about it again while trying to help her, there was little that I could do. Glad that I worked from home, other than staying with her and keeping her company, talking to her, and distracting her by watching movies, and playing board games, there wasn’t much that I could do to help her through this.

Other than getting her a dog to sleep with her, what could I possibly do about her hating to sleep alone? Perish the thought, I thought about temporarily sleeping with her, but this was my mother. Not even daring to suggest it, squashing the thought as soon as I had it, I couldn’t sleep with my mother. That’s just wrong. That’s just nasty. How could I possibly sleep in the same bed with my mother. Other than to give her my shoulder to cry on and encourage her to go out, literally, there was little that I could do to help her,’ I thought.

# # #

Then, unnerving me, biting her lip, and looking at me sheepishly, she looked at me as if she wanted to ask me something. She looked at me as if afraid to ask me the question that she had on her mind and that I had thought about asking her but didn’t for fear of being sexually inappropriate. Then, as if reading her mind and as if someone else had said it, I couldn’t believe what I asked in answer to my mother’s loneliness and her hating to sleep alone.

“What about me, Mom,” I asked with a deafening pause?

She looked at me not understanding my meaning.

“What about you,” she asked?

I looked at her long and hard before answering her. A real MILF, she was so beautiful. She was so vulnerable. She was so sexy. She was everything that I’d want in a woman. I’d love to find a woman who not only looked like my mother, I’d like to find a woman who walked like her, talked like her, and laughed like her. Surely, if I looked hard enough, I could find my mother’s doppelganger and her younger clone.

“I could sleep with you, Mother,” I said as if saying it in a daze. “I could hold you, hug you, cuddle with you, and spoon you until you fell asleep. Then, I’d return to my room and sleep in my own bed,” I said.

‘What? What did I just say? Did I really ask my mother that? How dare I? What’s wrong with me?’

I paused to see her reaction hiltonbet giriş to what I had just asked her to reflect on her face. “What do you think? Would that work for you? Would my sleeping with you in your bed help you to get a good night’s sleep?”

Hoping she’d say no, the last thing that I wanted to do was to sleep with my mother in her bed. Yet instead of looking at me as if I was crazy for suggesting such a thing, she looked at me as if she had won the lottery. After seeing her so sad, I’ve never seen her so happy. Only, feeling the reality of what I volunteered to do now, I couldn’t believe that I volunteered to sleep with my mother in her bed.

# # #

Trying to think of a way to get out of sleeping with my mother, I can’t do that. What’s wrong with me to even think that and suggest that? What grown man sleeps with his mother? What would my friends say if they knew that I was sleeping with my mother in her bed? What if she told our relatives and/or her friends that we were sleeping together in the same bed? How taboo is that? How embarrassing is that?

“Seriously? You’d do that for me? You’d sleep with your mother,” she looked at me as if she was waiting for me to change my mind? “You’d hold me. You’d hug me. You’d cuddle with me and spoon me?”

She looked at me to beam me a wide smile.

“Oh, Roger. Thank you,” she said hugging me. “Thank you.”

No turning back now. Not wanting to disappoint her, now that I suggested that I’d sleep with her, I needed to follow through with sleeping with her in her bed. I returned her hug and gave her a nervous, albeit a loving smile.

“Of course, I would, Mother. I’d do anything to make you feel happy again. I’d do anything for you not to feel so sad,” I said meaning it. “I’d do anything to help you get some sleep. Anything. Anything at all. All you need to do is to ask. Nothing is too much for you to ask of me to do, Mother. Nothing. I love you, Mother,” I said leaning in to kiss on the cheek but when she turned her head as I leaned in to kiss her, I kissed me on the lips.

The first-time kissing my mother on the lips, I was tempted to part her lips with my tongue and French kiss her. Fortunately, I controlled myself from giving my mother a romantic kiss. That would have ruined everything. With my father a pervert, I needn’t follow in his footsteps and be a pervert, too. Just as my father was dating a woman 24-years younger than him, I’d be just as bad starting a sexual relationship with a woman who was 24-years older than me, especially if that woman was my mother.

# # #

That night, regretting that I volunteered to sleep with my mother, feeling awkward about sleeping with her, I put on pajama bottoms. Normally I sleep in the nude because I sleep hot and my room, for some unknown reason, is the hottest room in the house. Just as I didn’t want to embarrass myself by climbing in bed naked to sleep with my mother, I didn’t want to embarrass my mother by climbing in bed naked to sleep with her.

What would she think of me if I went to her bedroom naked? She’d think me mad. She’d think me sick. She’d think that I wanted her to give me sex. She’d think that I was taking advantage of my father not being there. She’d think me a pervert. I’d ruin all the good that I was doing by offering to sleep with her by showing up in her bedroom naked.

Giving myself the incestuous thought, something that I never considered before, I thought about doing now. I wondered what it would be like to sleep with my mother naked. Not dismissing the idea as ridiculous and perversely perverted as it sounded, I couldn’t stop thinking about sleeping with my mother while naked. If I didn’t wear pajamas to bed and slept in the nude, I wondered if she’d look, stare, look away, or order me from her room. With her not having had sex in a while, maybe, she’d surprise me and reach out and touch me.

Maybe, with her afraid to ask, she wanted to have sex with me. Yet a delicate balance, I didn’t want her to think that I was pressuring her to have sex with me. Honestly, even if my mother wanted me to give her sex, I’d never have sex with her. I couldn’t have sex with her. I just couldn’t. That’s a line that I’d never cross and something that I couldn’t do. Yet if I’d never have sex with her, why did I even think about sleeping naked with my mother?

Gross. That’s so gross. I could never allow my mother to deliberately see me naked. No doubt, with me being naked in front of my mother, I’d have an erection. I’d be so embarrassed for my mother to see my erect, naked prick. With me sporting an erection, easy enough to draw that conclusion, my mother would think that I wanted to have sex with her.

# # #

Normally with her wearing sweatshirt and sweatpants to bed, curious now, I wondered what my mother would wear to bed if she knew that I was going to sleep with her. Maybe, she’d wear a long flannel nightgown that buttoned from her neck to her ankles under her bathrobe to bed. Maybe, she’d surprise me and, hiltonbet güvenilirmi like me, she’d be naked, too. Nah, just as I’d never be naked in front of my mother, my mother would never be naked in front of me.

Sorry, that I even mentioned it, dreading sleeping with my mother and sorry that I volunteered to sleep with her, I walked down the hall to her bedroom as if I was walking to my execution. Yet with her always making sacrifices for me, I felt good about doing something nice for her. She needed to get some much-needed sleep. She needed to get her old life back. She needed to heel herself and if I could help her do that, then I was happy to do it.

Then I thought, after not having had sex with my father since their divorce and with her, no doubt, horny and sexually frustrated, what if my mother was expecting me to give her sex? With me already ensconced in her bed, what if she was the one hoping that I’d give her sex? What if she wanted me to make out with her while touching and feeling her everywhere through her clothes? What if she wanted me to strip her naked, have my wicked, sexual way with her naked body, and fuck her?

‘Something that I never thought of before, I suddenly thought of my mother naked and wanting me to give her sex now. I thought of her wanting me to fuck her. Yet I could never fuck her. I could never fuck my mother. That’s just wrong. That’s just nasty,’ I thought. ‘I could never kiss her and make out with her while making love to her.’

What if during the night, with her half asleep, dreaming, and sexually aroused, she mistook me for my father and pulled my naked prick from my pajama bottoms, stroked me, sucked me, and fucked me. What would I do if she stripped herself naked and mounted me? Imagining her begging to be fucked, would I fuck her? Would I dare fuck my mother? Could I have forbidden sex with her? Could I have incestuous sex with my mother?

‘Nah that would never happen. My mother isn’t like that. She’d never want to have sex with me. She barely had sex with my father. Morally modest, my mother is a prude. No matter if she was sad, lonely, and horny, she’d never pressure me to have sex with her either.

With her feeling sad, rejected, and lonely, she just wanted to feel my warm body next to her while she slept. She just wanted to feel me holding her, hugging her, cuddling her, and spooning her so that she could sleep,’ I thought. ‘She wanted to feel that she was loved instead of feeling rejected.’

Hoping she’d be asleep, so that I could avoid the uncomfortable situation of sleeping with my mother in her bed, ready to walk away and walk back to my room, I lightly knocked on her bedroom door.

# # #

“Come in,” she immediately said.

‘Shit,’ I thought. ‘She’s awake.’

Expecting her to be sleeping, I had hoped she’d be asleep and had forgotten about my offer to sleep with her. Then, when I heard her voice, I figured she’d be sitting at her vanity table brushing her long, beautiful, brown hair, something she did every night before bed. Instead, as if waiting up for me, when I opened her bedroom door, she was already in bed and laying on top of the covers while waiting for me.

In the way that my father did every night, I suddenly had an erotic image of coming to her when she was in bed every night. My father was such lucky man. How could he dump her and ruin his 25-year-marriage? Unfortunately, he didn’t know what he had in her to part with her for a woman more than half his age. Yet, suddenly, seeing her there waiting for me and smiling, I never felt as pressured, not for sex but to sleep in the same bed with my mother, as I felt now. Instead of feeling sexually excited, I felt weirdly grossed out.

Sexually surprising me, instead of her wearing sweatshirt and sweatpants to bed, she wore a sheer, low-cut, and sexy nightgown, one that I had never seen before, and didn’t know she owned. With my mother morally modest, having never seen her in her nightgown without her wearing her robe over it, she always wore a bathrobe over her nightgowns. Yet, with her already in bed, albeit lying on top of the covers, never have I seen as much of my mother’s nearly, naked body as I was seeing now.

No longer grossed out, sexually shocking me, I couldn’t stop staring at all that I was seeing and all that she was showing. As if she had deliberately placed it there to sexually tease me and perhaps, even sexually seduce me, the hem of her nightgown was raised to her mid-thigh. My mother has such long and shapely legs and it was sexually exciting seeing them. I imagined her legs draped down my shoulders while I licked her pussy, fingered her cunt, and ate her.

If that wasn’t enough to make me horny, her legs were parted open just enough that I could see a flash of her naked, brown, trimmed pussy. I couldn’t believe my mother wasn’t wearing panties to bed. I couldn’t believe that I was seeing my mother’s naked pussy.

I had never seen my mother’s naked pussy before, and I was shocked and sexually excited that I was seeing her pussy now. I would have thought that with her tossing and turning during the night, she’d wear pants and, at least, panties to bed. In the way that I slept naked in bed, but for her sheer and sexy nightgown, my mother was practically naked.

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