Gender: Male Age: 63 Location: N/A
|Introduction: It's all your fault, my mom says thanks!|
BLAME IT ON OEDIPLEX
It's all your fault, my mom says thanks!
by Oediplex 8==3~
I have become one of your biggest OediPals. Not just because I have read everything you have posted somewhere on the web, but because one of your stories was instrumental in helping me to connect in a wondrous way with my mother, and we became lovers. Just like Allen, in that five part saga of his, which you provided on line for your faithful fans, I am happy to share with you our introduction into incest. (You are welcome to pass on to your readers, with mom's and my blessings). In return, for our personal account, we would like to ask a favor.
I am now thirty-two, divorced, and have lived with my mother for the last six years. Our affair began a year ago, but had it's roots many years earlier. Before I go into the details of that tale, I wish to provide some context. I came across your writings about three years ago by accident, a misspelling when I Googled about the Oedipus Complex. I had one, which had been brewing and was now bubbling in full ferment. Being a house-mate with my mom was stirring up the feelings I had, which had never been very dormant in the first place.
Let me say that I found the advice in your “Open Letter” to the mother, 'Jocasta' was good advice and gave me a real impetus to set in motion my own plan to try to have sex with my mom. I thought sharing one of your stories, printed out and offered to her with a note, might send a message. But it would have to be the right one. I did not want to wind up a wannabe, as you described in your autobiographical telling of “Cum, Ye Motherfuckers, Cum”, of course you did fuck your mom in the end, in a way. I used the guide to your works found at the end of “Mother's Port In A Storm” as a check list to search for a work that would work.
I think “All About the Birds & Bees & Billy” was probably your hottest, but it wasn't quite the opening I wanted. Mom wasn't much of a drinker or did grass anymore, so the "Tokin'”, while awfully good, didn't fit the bill. Moreover, it and “Family Trip” were too long anyway. Wrong time of the year for “Y2K”, and “Pandora's Box Got Me Mom's Box” required too much explanation for my strategy. (By the way, great work on that graphic novel collaboration with PB; Joss, your French partner, helped too, right? Please thank Joss for sending your latest one “To Kiss Where I Came From”.)
To make this short, I finally settled on “Perfect Air, Perfect Heir” as the best piece. I don't know why I didn't think of it straight off the bat, as you will understand when I go into details about how I got mom to at last make love with me. It also relates, in a way, to the favor we are requesting in return for our being open with you about our intimate living arrangements. Now, the dialog is close to the words we actually spoke, as I provide the narration, but I didn't have a recorder on. Mom did help me to reconstruct what we said, so it is fairly accurate, and the action is actually what happened.
My, excuse me, mother says to say – our affair – began with my decision to have my mother know about my sexual feelings for her. My name is Dan and I was 31, living at my mom's house, since my ex, Sue, divorced me. (Her temperament and mine were oil and water, our split having nothing to do with my Oedipal hang up.) Mom, called Cassie, and my father had divorced when I was twenty-two. [Not out real names] She is presently a fit 53.
Mom reminds me of Diane Lane in a recent movie, only with a strawberry-blond color. Natural too! I'm sure of that, I have the proof of the pud-ding, so to speak. I'm getting a little thick, but still athletic. I jog, mom goes to a gym. Though now days, we have a way of 'working-out' together. We were rather independent generally, before our incestuous involvement. Both of us had been in other relationships during that period, some long, others shorter. The house was big enough that we didn't bump elbows. Sleep-overs of lovers were not usual, but not unknown to happen on occasion.
My thought was that if I presented a letter of what was in my heart and head and hard-on, along with an erotic story that it could possibly strike a chord; perhaps stir up some feelings I hoped – suspected - she had. That it might lead to something between us. At least, I wouldn't have to wonder anymore if there was a prospect that we might get together, intimately. Your story of the mother and son, naked on a beach, who wind up making love, was both quite erotic, and even perhaps poetic. It reflected a certain incident that had been critical and crucial to some underlying dynamics between the two of us. That specific occasion I thought I might have detected a subtle undercurrent of influence in our relationship. However, these tensions were unspoken and unacknowledged, but for me, they were certainly undeniable.
I bought a very large, oversize romantic card. In the envelope with it, I put the print-out of “Perfect Air, Perfect Heir”. On the card I wrote this note:
I want to thank you for all the love you have given me my whole life. I couldn't ask for a better mom. I hope I have been a son you are proud of, I think you are. I happened on this tale some time ago on the Internet. I found it both beautiful in it's sentiment and very arousing in it's sensuality. I know it is a strange sort of thing for a son to share with his mother, but I have an idea that you might also like to read it. I trust that you will not be angry at me for giving it to you. You don't have to read it if you decide that the subject matter is inappropriate.
Your most loving son,
I gave her the big envelope and instructed her to open it after she had retired to her bedroom that evening. It was not Mother's Day, not Valentine's Day, nor her birthday. No special day, not even the anniversary of the 'incident' of fateful memory. It was an invitation to incest. It was a bold and blatant attempt to interest my dear mother in having intercourse with me, her only child, her son. I didn't know whether it would work or not. I thought that knowing my mother, as well as I did, that she would not be totally outraged. But she might just laugh it off, even if she was not offended.
The worst I thought, that she would be a bit estranged for some time, that things between us be strained for a while. I wouldn't want to alienate the most important person in my life, but on the other hand, I thought that the situation could be a happy one as well. If the plan worked, then our circumstances might be a joyous union, instead of a dreadful division. I was very nervous when she finally left to go upstairs. I decided that I would listen outside her door, to see if there were any auditory clues, to what her reaction was to the card and story.
What I heard was some whispering as she read the card out loud to herself. Then a gasp, then a tittering of laughter, followed by a period of silence. Much like the youngster in your four-part “Sounds of Incest”, I then had the rare privilege of listening to my mother masturbate. I was too keyed up to stand there and jerk-off myself, lest she come out for some reason, and discover me ease-dropping at her door. After hearing her climax, I silently went to my room and waxed my pole thinking of what might have been, and of what I had listen to surreptitiously, and what might be.
If my wishes came true, then I would be cumming with her soon. Is it okay to pray for a sin?
The next morning I came down to the kitchen, I didn't know what to expect. I had heard the sounds of my mother masturbating and climaxing last night, but I was unsure if your story had turned her on, or if it just had gotten her thinking in the general area of sex. Of course, I hoped it had planted a seed in her mind, or rather, more to the point, was watering a sprout that had been planted long ago. That seedling was what I was wishing had germinated, an idea taking root and breaking through to the light now, to grow and bud and flower. However, I was unsure of what her reaction had been.
What I did have as evidence, that the results of the risk I had taken of upsetting her, perhaps even creating a rift between us, had not been too negative, was that there had been no immediate drama. There wasn't any confrontation, no screams or weeping, not any of the sort of hysterics and angry words that mom was capable of. That fiery redhead temper was not shy about making you aware of exactly what she was thinking. Her feelings were out there for you to see, she didn't hide them. She assuredly could be quite demonstrative in her reactions.
As I entered the kitchen all seemed normal. She was in her robe and making coffee, putting some dishes away from the sink, puttering around, typical mom. She came over to the table with two cups of brew, set one before me and sat opposite me. She tilted her head and looked at me with an odd expression. Then she smiled and took a sip before she spoke. “That was a . . . very unusual kind of story for a kid to present to his parent. May I ask what on earth prompted you to give me a copy – of that specific story. I mean its weird enough to have a sexual fiction offered to you by your child . . . I know your not a child, I mean one's offspring . . . much less an erotic tale of incest for a son to share with his mother.”
“Mom . . .”
“Let me finish. Not just that it was about a mother and son having relations, but the very setting and nature of the whole . . . plot and context . . . why that particular story? Why, what – is there some significance to not just what kind of porno you passed to me, but which one, which exact story you chose to put into my envelope?”
“Well, I would like to understand, if you don't mind.”
I sighed, 'here it goes', I thought, this is it. I either bust the wonderful friendship I have developed with my mom, that we have built over the past five years, or it goes to a whole other level. It wasn't going to be the same, one way or another, I imagined. “You remember the time all three of us, dad, you and I, were out hiking, the summer I turned eighteen? We came upon that isolated fishing cabin on that little lake?”
“Sure, it was damn hot that summer.”
“So we decided to go swimming, but of course we were in the middle of the woods, away from camp and didn't have our suits with us.”
“You and your dad decided to go shinny-dipping. Nobody was around, the owners were not home. It was all locked up, they probably came only on weekends. When we discovered the place it was a weekday. ”
“You went in too.”
“Yeah, I kept my bra and panties on, though.”
“Right, except when they got wet you could see right through them.”
“Well, I was your mother, that wasn't any big deal . . . was it?”
“Its not as if I hadn't seen a nude woman, I had read Playboy, etc., but I was interested in what your body looked like. That was the first time I had gotten to see parts, which I hadn't seen since I was seven, when I walked in on you changing one day, and you were naked.”
“Remembered that little incident, do you?”
“Yes, it made quite an impression on me. I formed a lasting memory of that look-see at the lake, as well.”
“And that's why you picked that story . .”
“There's more to it than just the dip in the lake. When I was about twenty-three, I went to visit dad, after you guys were divorced, before I met Sue. We were getting a bit sloshed one night and started swapping histories of our youthful conquests with the ladies.”
“Like father, like son.”
“More than you know, or rather than you previously suspected up until last night. See, I have had the hots for you, ever since that day at the lake I mentioned. But I never ever mentioned it to anyone until that evening with dad. Let me continue before you say anything, because I'm coming to the answer to your question about why that story. I simply said that I thought you were a MILF, then had to explain the term to him. Dad got quiet for a moment, lost in thought and then he himself brought up the skinny-dipping day. He told me never to say a word to anyone about what he was going to tell me next.”
I heard mom hold her breathe, I had her full attention, I was pretty sure she knew where this was going. “Dad said that night, back at your cabin, you were, uh . . . unusually excited, sexual aroused. You were especially hot-to-trot, and wild in bed. A real tigress. He said he thought it might have been because you had seen me naked and been turned-on by your own son. He said the . . effect lasted several weeks, in fact. He wasn't positive, but it was the only thing he could think of, which might have been a stimulating influence around that period.”
“So, you thought that the story by . . . Odeiplex, was it . . . about a mother and son skinny-dipping together and then making love on the beach . . . would be romantic? Would get my – juices, if you will, flowing?”
“Mom, we have been in the same house for over five years now. More buddies than parent and child. And I am your child. Even though I'm thirty-one, I also know that I will always in some way be your boy, still though I'm an adult, and I am confident that you recognize that fact. We both have had dates in the span of our living with one another, even on occasion each of us has brought their respective escorts home, overnight. We are both grown-ups, and have no illusions about the other being sexually active. But you haven't gone out in close to a year. It's nearly been as long for me, as well.”
“So? What, you thought that the 'Old Lady” is likely horny – and so are you . . why don't both of us get it on? We're all adults. Is that what this is all about?”
“No! Mom! Not like that . . . exactly. I gave that story – the particular story which was as close to the memory . . ,” I paused, struck by a realization, “so you did read it.”
“Yes. Finish what you were saying.”
“As near to what we had . . uh, been doing, when . . .” I decided to come to the point. “Well, if you had been aroused by me. If you were aroused by your own son that day. Like I became interested in you, in that way on that same day. Uhm . . . while we couldn't have done anything back then . .”
“Indeed not! Your doodle was such a wet noodle from that cold water! Neither of you could have - risen to the occasion!”
“Yeah, but I don't mean that. I mean you were still married to dad, and I was young and more innocent than not. All though, I wasn't a virgin at that point. Betty Johnson had taken my cherry a few months before.”
“Who was that? I don't remember her.”
“Just a girl I took out for a few weeks.” I continued, “My thought, the reason I gave you that special story, was; if you were turned on by me, and I am most certainly desirous of having the chance to make love to my beautiful, sexy mother; since we are both single, and I think both horny, and . .”
“And if maybe I knew of your feelings for me, and if I maybe still had feelings of the same kind for you, that I would get it into my head to commit incest with my own son. Right?”
“Uh-Huh.” I felt suddenly dumb, and numb with fear that she was really pissed at me for such an insensitive stunt.
“Remember a few minutes ago, I asked if your plan was to get my juices flowing?”
“Yes.” I could hardly squeak out the answer my throat was so tight.
“Well, it did” she stood up. “In fact, I masturbated last night, thinking of that day at the lake. Thinking of you, like you wanted me to do.” She undid the belt of her robe. “I was so hot, I had a real big cum.” Mom shrugged the garment off her shoulders and opened it a few inches. She was wearing just a soft bra and some tight cotton panties. My dick was beginning to rise. “I wasn't sure what I was going to do this morning, about the situation . .”
The dressing gown dropped to the linoleum. “But since we have had this little talk, and you confirmed what I have, for years, suspected, that you gotta thing for your momma.” She started to walk toward me and my boner was stiff in my jockeys. “And now I'm getting wet down there, because my handsome son has set up the opportunity for me to have what I have had a hankerin' for . .” She straddled me on the kitchen chair. “The hunk of meat I saw hangin' between your legs, thirteen years ago.” She sat.
It WAS one of the most erotic moments of my life. Right up there with losing my virginity, the first time I screwed Sue, and including the view of mom at the lake, with her undies wet and her charms quite distinctly visible through the translucent material. I was fully erect now and my mother's panty clad bush was pushing against it. She wrapped her arms around me and pulled my head into the pillows of her bosom. My arms hugged her, my hands on her back. I was in heaven, and all was right with my world. We were going to be closer that ever, we were going to be lovers, we were going to fuck!
I nuzzled into her cleavage as mom kissed the top of my head. Then she whispered in my ear, “You like mommy's mammeries so much, why don't you kiss them?” I turned so that my lips were smooching the tops of her boobs above the bra. She continued her gentle direction, “Get to the point, toggle my tips, nibble my nipples.” I reached up to her shoulder blades and found the catch and undid the three hooks that held back the tender ta-tas. They sprang free, and the straps of her top slid down her arms. I grasped one end of the clasp and dragged the whole article off. Now those double delights were before me for my oral gratification. I began to suckle.
Her fingers ran through my hair, and she gave a little giggle. I mouthed the small, pastel rosettes that capped her peaks. My tongue swirled over the erect buds, and she drew in a sharp breath, and then let out a long sigh. I use my oral digit to flick over the fleshy buttons, mom went, “Mmm!” Her hands sought to pull my tee-shirt over my head, and I backed away to allow the clothing to be stripped off my torso. As soon as I was as topless as she, mom clamped me in a clench, so we were chest to breasts, her nipples poking into my pects. The warmth of her body heat seemed the very comfort of mothering love, like being tucked in with your favorite blankey, the assurance a child needs that they are safe and protected and adored.
Meanwhile, something entirely adult was taking place below the belt. Mom had begun to grind her pelvis against my prominent manhood. Even though two layers of fabric separated our genitals, they were of one accord, in that action which they wanted. I made what little humping I could, pinned down on the seat by her spanning hips. The movement was making me mad with desire. Mom too, as suddenly she jumped up and looking me right in the eye said, “I can't wait any longer. I need you in me. Shuck those shorts, right now!” As she ordered me, so she, herself, followed suit and yanked her undies straight down her legs, and nimbly stepped out of the tiny pile of panties. I saw for the first time, in almost a quarter of a century, the wispy, fluffy puff that provided indisputable evidence that her auburn gilt was natural.
The pout of her split was blushing, and it glistened within the crevice with a promise of an easy entrance. My tightie-whities were down in an instant, as I plopped back on the chair, my rod rigid and ready. Another drop of pre-cum appeared at the head of my helmet, as I saw mom spread her thighs, and begin to mount my saddle horn. She reached to where our loins were coming together and directed the object of her hunger to her hole. With the almost scalding heat of our touching, for the first time where man and woman unite, I cried my call of ecstatic excitement as a shout, “Mommy, I love you!” - - “Baby!” was her equally ardent and voluminous vocal reply as she sank on my shank.
Then I was sliding down into her vagina. I was rising up into her cunt. I was passing deep within her pussy. I was in my mother's body once more. I was surprised how tight it was. The moist clinging tissue seemed to stretch over every square centimeter of skin on my cock. Elastic and yet pliant mom's sweet cavity enclosed my penis. Her vagina was the most pleasurable place that piece of sensitive muscle had ever been. We held in that pose, for who knows how long. It could have been hours, but it was not long enough.
It might have been only half a minute, because our mutual craving to repeat the penetration drove a second stroke, then a third rushed after, in an instant. Then, the stampede of schtupping was on. I didn't have to do much but hold my hips at a slight angle off the chair. I helped better by hanging on to mom's buns to keep her aligned. Her legs were in great shape from those workouts. She rocked and rolled on my Stratocastor, the music we made was electric, a wailing guitar gone wild. I heard her little squeaks of elation grow into full blown shrieks of ecstasy. My own grunts of delight rose to groans of the intense anguish, that almost unbearable sensation of happy hurting, which pricks are prone to, when peaking.
The first time couldn't last any sort of length, since we were both so primed to make up for that lost time of past suppression, in one flash of passion. Like the bright flare of the pan of antique photographers, we consumed our explosive lust. Steamy and sweaty, our bodies convulsed with the physical contortions and mental inflammation of cataclysmic climaxes. Orgasm seems so tame a word, to describe the paroxysms and constrictions of the whole human organism, which possessed our very being at the pinnacle of perfect bliss. We had rejoined in body, we had merged in spirit, we were now melded into one another; an alloy of flesh, an amalgam of family, genetic bonding, between mother and son.
I felt my love flow as a stream into her womb, pumping the essence of my system's essential life-force with my seed. My sperm – messengers of my everlasting lust. Mother's emulsions of her womanhood washed over my dick and balls. The lotion of sex was a white froth that blended with my dribbling spume, seeping out of her hollow. Mother was hoarsely panting, she collapsed onto my front, her slick globes pressed wonderfully on my heaving chest. I felt like I had run a marathon, winded and soaked with perspiration. My once rutting ram was now but a weak worm that slid from her center. I encircled mom's ribs and held her to me, in an embrace that was the most special we had ever shared.
Mom, with her cheek next to mine, puffed, 'You can lodge your tent pole in your mother's hole, anytime you want. Oh baby, how you light my campfire!”
I managed to huff out a few words of my own, “Now that's a skinny-dipping, I'll never forget!”
We kissed and carried on that day and ever since. I introduce my mom to other stories of yours, as well as other favorite writers and artist and my photo collection, my video clips of incest etc.. We like to role-play the frolicking plots and raunchy romps we read of, the various scenes and settings that we find erotic and romantic. (By the way, please feel free to put your special spin on the above loving chronicle of our carnal coupling and incestuous copulation.) Which leads us to our request of you, O Oediplex of nasty nights and dirty days.
If you would be so kind, could you concoct a naughty narrative, a tweaked remembrance of our first day of lusting for one another, by the little lake. When sonny saw mommy's charms and mother hungered for her boy's toy? Recast to cut out the father figure, this time we are both bared and no spot is spared from view, nor hole barred, neither are we kept from our passions by any prudish impediment. In other words, we let our libidos loose and lose any inhibitions and give into what we both desire; to fuck our brains out then and there. Pretty please, with cream on top, mom asks!
Oediplex Responds: Indeed, I'll do my best. I have completed a composition of just such a scenario at your behest. Entitled “Some Things Were Mint To Be!” - A remote lake brings mom & son closer. I think it has a flavor which will titillate your sexual senses, hence the reference in the title. Tell us more of your adventures and we shall post for all of the OediPals to cum and enjoy! Oediplex 8==3~
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