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Nothing out of the ordinary, it was a Halloween like any other Halloween with me visiting my son, Joey, to spend some quality time with him, his wife, Patty, and my grandchildren. Normally, I vacation with them for a week every summer but, this time, his wife, Patty, asked me to come again over the Halloween weekend to see the kids in their costumes and to take them trick or treating. Since Halloween was my son’s birthday anyway, it was a way for me buy him a birthday gift there, instead of buying it here and shipping it.
“Mom, can you come over Halloween,” asked Patty? “I could really use your help with the kids and they’d be so excited for you to see them in their Halloween costumes.”
“Yeah, sure, I’d love nothing more than to spend the Halloween holiday with you, the kids, and Joey. It would be fun to pass out candy after taking the kids trick or treating. I haven’t done that in years, since Joey was a boy. Maybe, the day before, we can go to the haunted fun house together.”
Only, a Halloween birthday surprise for Joey, my son didn’t know that I had arrived to celebrate Halloween and his birthday, and I didn’t know that this holiday would change our lives forever and change our relationship from mother and son to Elizabeth and Joey, lovers.
It all started early one morning when Joey found his way home drunk. It had been his birthday. Not only had he missed his kids dressed in costume and taking them out trick or treat but also he had missed his own party with cake, candles, and presents. With the kids disappointed that Daddy wasn’t there to celebrate Halloween and his birthday with them, his wife and kids had already gone to bed, and I was still up watching television, something I never do so late, but I was worried about him.
“Where the Hell is he? Why didn’t he call? Maybe something happened to him. I’m going to lay into him when he walks through the door,” I said to myself, while pacing back and forth and peering out the window for evidence of his truck. Then, I thought, “Stay out of it. He’s married now. This is between him and his wife. He’s not your little boy anymore, but a grown man with a wife and kids. If you must, you can have your say later after his wife and when you are alone with him,” I said to calm the anger that he’d rather be out drinking than to be home with his family for Halloween.
It was well after one o’clock in the morning when I heard him out front. Relieved, I knew it was him, as soon as he pulled up to the house. Only, when he hit the curb with his front tire, slammed his door twice to close it, dropped his keys, and swore, I knew he was drunk.
“Fuck! Where’s my keys? Where the Hell are they? There they are. Just my luck, it figures they’d fall in the only freakin’ puddle on the street.”
He was lucky he hadn’t killed himself and/or someone else. He was lucky he hadn’t been stopped, arrested, and thrown in jail. In this day and age of public awareness and public outcry, akin to being an outcast from having leprosy during the Middle Ages or AIDS in the eighties or being a registered sex offender, driving drunk today was only asking for trouble. With a drunken driving conviction that follows you around the rest of your life, no one likes a drunk, especially a drunk driver. Only, thinking that it was only bizarre bad behavior, I didn’t know that this had recently become his regular routine. Going out to the bar, hanging out with the guys, and coming home drunk, changed him from a good boy to a bad man. He didn’t know, yet, that his wife, my daughter-in-law, Patricia, had asked me to stay with them over the Halloween holiday weekend.
“Surprise! Happy Birthday, Joey,” I thought I’d greet him at the door, but I didn’t say a word. Not wanting to awaken Patty and/or the kids, I was angry with him that he had disappointed his children and upset his wife. I just let him fumble and stumble himself inside.
Now, I understood what was happening between them and the reason why she asked me to come so soon for another visit. Maybe the reason she asked me to stay longer had less to do with helping out with the kids and more to do with helping her out with Joey. He was a mess. Neglecting his family obligations and drinking to an excess, he was out of control. Now, unable to even fend for himself, in the drunken condition and weakened state he was in, he needed more tender loving care than his 2-year-old daughter and 4-year-old son.
Because he was my son and because I loved him, I still was biased in his favor, figuring that Patty was the reason why Joey started drinking. Maybe, after the birth of the children and with her being tired from caring for them and cooking and cleaning, they weren’t intimate anymore. It still amazed me how someone who was only 25-years-old could have such a problem with alcohol. When did he suddenly start drinking? Why did he suddenly start drinking? He didn’t drink before he was married. I don’t remember him ever having a drink when he lived with me. After güvenilir canlı bahis siteleri having lived with and survived his drunken father, I wouldn’t even allow alcohol in the house.
Yet, a telltale sign, even when the economy was good, he couldn’t keep a job. Another telltale sign that he had a serious problem with alcohol, even when he finally admitted that he was an alcoholic and attended regular AA meetings, Patty confessed that he still couldn’t stop drinking. A closet drunk, he had somehow hidden his drinking from me. It’s a disease. His father had it and now he has it.
“He’d rather celebrate his birthday with his drunken friends, instead of with his family. That’s where he is, in the bar with his friends getting drunk again,” said Patty. “He’d rather drink and get drunk than to see his children in costume and take them trick or treating.”
I could see in her eyes that she not only had already given up on him but also, by the late night telephone calls she received, that she had the interest and the attention of someone else. They lived in a small house with small rooms and she didn’t think that I could hear her behind her closed bedroom door whispering her secret, sexual desire for someone else, but I could.
“Do you really like my tits? Tell me, what do you like about my breasts? Well, I really like your cock and if you were here now, what I’d do is…”
I figured she was having an affair with a co-worker or a customer. I didn’t blame her. How could I for what she’s already been through with Joey not working, not looking for work, not helping out with the kids, and getting drunk?
It would serve my son right, if she was having an affair. We all need the loving support and sexual comfort of someone and if you’re not getting it at home, then it’s only a matter of time before you’ll get it from somewhere and someone else. With no one to blame but himself, my son should have been taking better care of business at home, instead of giving all his business to the neighborhood bar.
Patty was a pretty girl. She reminded me of myself when I was her age. She had the same color strawberry blonde hair and the same color hazel eyes, the same shapely build, the same 120 pound weight, and the same 5’5″ height as me. Right down to the same C cup breast size and shape, she could have been my younger clone.
Looking at her was eerily familiar, as if I was looking in the mirror at myself fifteen years ago. I felt as though her face was my living picture of Dorian Grey by Oscar Wilde. The physical similarities we had in common were shocking. Everyone who saw us out together either thought we were mother and daughter or sisters.
It pains me to admit it but, when I first met her, I couldn’t help but wonder if Joey had harbored incestuous thoughts for me by marrying her. Patty and I looked too much alike for me or for anyone not to think that. Only, as soon as I thought the thought, I put it out of my mind as silly nonsense.
“We don’t chose the one we fall in love with,” I told myself, “it’s just a coincidence that he was attracted to someone who looked exactly like me, exactly like his mother.”
Then, I wondered if he purposely set out to find someone who looked enough like me that, when he was having sex with his wife, he’d pretend he was having sex with me? It was weirdly disturbing to think that thought and even though I tried not to think those thoughts, whenever I was alone and lonely and touching myself, I found myself thinking that he had married Patty because he couldn’t marry me. I imagined him wanting to have sex with me, his mother.
Maybe, as any overprotective mother tends to do, thinking that no woman is good enough for her son, I was flattering myself in thinking that Joey was attracted to me and, further, that only I was good enough for Joey. Maybe I was just imagining something that wasn’t there. It was obvious that I needed to let him go. He wasn’t my little boy anymore. He was a man now, only, by not working and getting drunk all the time, he wasn’t acting like the man he needed to be for Patty and for his children.
Yet, as further proof that he had been sexually attracted to me and purposely chose Patty, people at their wedding, people who I never met before, approached me to compliment me on how pretty my daughter looked.
“It’s amazing. I can’t tell mother from daughter. You two could be sisters, instead of mother and daughter. Your daughter is so pretty. She makes a beautiful bride. You must be so proud of her.”
All the comments were the same tone and gave me the same shocking suggestion that my son had been lusting over me all these years.
“Thank you, she does make a beautiful bride and I am so very proud of her, only, she’s not my daughter. She’s my daughter-in-law.”
“Oh, really? You look so much alike,” they’d all say looking from me to her and back to me again, before excusing themselves to whisper their perverted suspicions to their güvenilir illegal bahis siteleri friends.
Embarrassed by their questioning looks, I knew they were thinking my son married her because he couldn’t have Mommy. Even Patty had that same wondering look the first day I met her and I knew that she was thinking the same thing. Her look made me feel dirty and wicked. Her look made me feel that I had used and abused the sacred trust of mother and son. Even though I had never done anything inappropriate with my son, not even so much as having an incestuous thought, she made me feel that I must have had sex with my son for him to go out and find my carbon copy, my younger clone.
Nonetheless, I felt guilty that she and they thought that I had. Yet, for him to find a woman, who looked so much like me, his mother, that she could have been my twin sister or my daughter, now I was certain that he had inappropriate thoughts about me, especially when we lived together, as mother and son. What should have made my skin crawl, what should have made my stomach turn, made me excited that my son wanted me, as much as I was beginning to understand and admit that I wanted him.
Not even giving it a second thought then, I can see the voyeuristic pattern that he masterminded now. Looking back and remembering all that he did to quench his curiosity about me and to quell his sexual lust for me, I can finally see all the voyeuristic opportunities and sexual scenarios that he had obviously devised to successfully see me in all manners of undress, including being topless and even naked. I shudder to think that he had used me to get what he sexually wanted and needed at the time. If I confronted him, embarrassed that he was sexually attracted to his mother, he’d surely deny it. The trusting and loving mother that I was, I felt like the fool not to have seen all he had purposely done in trying to see me naked.
Making it appear accidental, but definitely on purpose, no doubt, when I was getting undressed for bed or dressed for work, he’d open my bedroom door with the pretense of having something important to tell me.
“Mom, Mom, I forgot to tell you. Oh, sorry, I didn’t know you were changing.”
Like a deer caught in headlights, he’d stand there staring at my nakedness and surprised by his sudden appearance, I was always too slow to cover up. Trying to be the patient parent and the understanding mother, I didn’t want to discourage his enthusiasm for sharing his thoughts with me nor did I want to make him feel that sex was dirty or forbidden by showing the embarrassing shame that I felt in him seeing me in my underwear, topless or naked. Matter of fact, I encouraged him to talk to me at any time, only, for his benefit, he used that a bit too literally, opening my door in a rush without warning and without the courtesy of a knock. Still, I always reinforced how important it was for him to knock first, before opening my door, but to no avail.
“You need to knock, Joey, before entering a room that has a closed door. Give me a minute and I’ll be right out to listen to what you have to tell me.”
Probably hoping to see more than he did, he usually caught me in my bra and panty. Yet, there were a few times he caught me with my nightgown over my head either taking it off in the morning or putting it on at night. I remember thinking that it was an accident and that he didn’t see much. Yet, thinking about it now, he must have seen me naked more than a few times. Then, there were all those times that he barged in the bathroom and flung open the door on the pretense that he had to pee really badly. Since we only had the one bathroom, I didn’t think anything of it. Even though I asked him to knock, he said he had.
“You probably didn’t hear me knock over the shower, Mom. Sorry,” he said and I naively accepted that as a viable and innocent explanation.
With my radio playing in the background and my head under the water, he could have been standing there in the bathroom peeping at me through the shower curtain that never closed all the way for all that I knew. He was my son, after all, and I trusted him not to purposely violate my privacy, even though that was exactly what he had done.
Our bathroom door didn’t have a lock and he was so quick to open it. I could have installed a lock, but I didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable. I was so naïve.
He had a knack of catching me just as I was getting out of the shower, before I even had a chance to grab a towel. Taken by surprise, showering before I even had my cup of morning coffee, I was slow to react to cover my nakedness with a towel. He must have seen plenty, my tits, my ass, and my pussy. Now that I think about it, he must have listened for the water being turned off and the shower curtain being pulled open, before turning the knob and rushing inside. After a while, with him seeing me naked so many times, I was numb to it. It was no big deal for me but, in hindsight, güvenilir bahis şirketleri it was a big deal to him. I mean, I still covered myself with a towel, but I didn’t make the issue out of it that I should have.
“Sorry, Mom, but I have to pee,” he’d say, even when he was no longer my little boy, but my18-year-old man.
I found it difficult not to look and to watch, when he whipped out his cock in front of me and started peeing. I pretended not to look, but I did. I pretended that I wasn’t watching but, from out of the corner of my eye, I was. Only, I’d be mortified if he ever caught me staring at his cock. Unable to admit it to myself, I’d be embarrassed if he thought I wanted him, my son, sexually, but in thinking about it now, I did.
A woman without a man, I was horny, too. I had sexual needs, too, that weren’t being met. In hindsight, I realize now that he wanted me to see his cock, as much as I wanted to see it, and he wanted to see me naked, as much as I wanted him to see me naked. Genetically similar, as mother and son, apparently, I was just as perverted and horny as he was, and as sexually attracted to him as he was to me.
The first time it happened, the first time he saw something of me that he shouldn’t, uncomfortable at how much I was showing and how much he saw, I was embarrassed, by the thought that my son had seen me in my bra and panty, topless and/or naked. Having him see me topless and/or naked was certainly more embarrassing for me than having him see me in my panty and bra but, when I realized he was trying to see me in my panty and bra and/or topless or naked, I felt violated. Yet, enflame by incestuous thoughts, the embarrassment that I felt then, has developed and manifested itself into sexual excitement and a sick sort of sexual attraction to him now. Perhaps, it has something with him being married and forsaking me for another woman. I don’t know.
I remember dismissing those forbidden thoughts with the knowledge that I was his mother and he was my son and neither of us thought of what had just happened sexually. Only, years later, judging by how excited I feel about it now, it was obvious how excited he must have felt about it then. Living with me until he was nearly 22-years-old and not leaving home until his girlfriend became pregnant and gave birth to their son, those same sexual thoughts that excited him several years ago, from the time he was 18-years-old and possibly before, until when he left home at nearly 22-years-old, now excite me. Maybe because he is no longer there as my constant companion, maybe because I’m just lonely and horny and need a man in my life, but whatever the reason, I feel a twisted sexual desire and a longing sexual passion for my son.
Had I known then that he was trying to see me naked, I would have been more than embarrassed. I would have felt uncomfortable. I would have confronted him, perhaps, and had a talk with him about the birds and the bees. Maybe I would have even taken him to see a professional, a psychologist. Only, in the way that I’m sexually feeling and thinking about my son now, I’m the one who needs the psychiatrist.
Once I started feeling a sexual attraction to my son, once I started fantasizing about making love to him and giving him regular hand jobs and blowjobs, I chalked it up to being lonely. I figured I was horny. Maybe it was a hormonal imbalance or a side effect from some of the medication my doctor had prescribe that I take. Maybe there was something in the flavored water I was drinking or the low carb, fat free food I was eating.
We don’t know what chemicals they put in foods today, a byproduct of what they give to the animals for them to procreate and for the crops to flourish. They tell us to read the labels, but if the farmers are injecting their cows, hens, and crops with designer drugs to make for a better harvest of milk, eggs, and produce, not to mention all the shit they dump in the ocean that indirectly makes it to our dinner plates with the fish we eat, who knows what chemicals we’re putting in our bodies and the side effects that they may have. I realize that I’m searching for justification of why I was suddenly sexually attracted to my son, but for whatever reason it was, I had suddenly developed a deep and strong sexual attraction for my son and I couldn’t remove him from my mind.
I knew it was wrong. Ashamed to admit it, when thinking about my son sexually, I was no longer thinking motherly thoughts. I was imagining him naked and with an erection. I was imagining him reacting favorably, an understatement, sexually to seeing me naked. I was imagining touching him, kissing him, and making love to him, while he touched me, kissed me, and made love to me.
“God, I’m so fucking horny,” I said shocked that I said it out loud, while hoping Patty was asleep and didn’t hear me. “I need to find a man. Maybe if I had a man in my life, I wouldn’t have these incestuous thoughts about my son.”
Just as I knew nothing would ever come of it, I knew those incestuous thoughts were wrong, but they continued to happen. So long as I didn’t act upon my incestuous feelings, what could possibly happen? With no one else knowing how I truly felt about my son, not his wife and surely not Joey, what could possibly go wrong?
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