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(Note to those who don’t like long, full stories: Save yourself the aggravation and don’t read this one. It’s very long.)
I buried my wife today. We had fifty-six great years together. Our love for each other never wavered. Oh, I’m not saying we didn’t have our differences of opinion and our fights, but nothing that was serious or that threatened our love for each other or our marriage. She was ninety years old and quietly passed away one day sitting in her rocker on the front porch of our house looking out to the sea.
Our daughter, Stephanie, our only child, was besides me when we laid my wife to rest. Also in attendance was Stephanie’s husband, their children, my grandchildren, two young men and a young woman and their spouses, as well as their children, five great grandchildren in all. And, of course, many, many people from the town were there, too.
It was a sad occasion, of course, but we all die eventually and my wife had ninety good years—except, maybe, for one or two when she was very young. She was well-loved by her family and friends and we will all miss her so very much, I more than the others because, you see, my wife was also my mother.
Neither our daughter, nor anyone else, ever knew that and, hopefully, never will, not that my Rachel and I were ashamed of being mother and son… and married. But we decided not to complicate our daughter’s life with our unconventional love and marriage. I’m seventy-six years old, fourteen years younger than my wife, my mother, and should have at least another ten years left, maybe more.
What follows is the story of how I came to fall in love with and eventually marry my mother. Not that we stood before a preacher or a justice of the peace or had a piece of paper giving up permission to marry. We married each other in our own ceremony using our own words when we were far out to sea sailing our way to a new life and a new beginning.
This is our story.
Rachel gently massaged her son’s feet as a snow storm—not quite a blizzard—raged outside the house. It was a habit from when he was little and had a hard time going to sleep. Rachel would rub and squeeze and massage his little feet. He would giggle at first then drift off to sleep. The fact that Jacob was now twenty years old didn’t seem to matter to either mother or son. She enjoyed doing it as a sign of her love for him. He enjoyed it as a sign of their close bond, because it brought back pleasant memories, because it felt good, and also because he was in love with his mother and loved her touching him, even if it was only a foot massage.
Of course, he would never admit to any of his friends that he let his mother massage his feet on a nearly nightly basis. He knew they would think that just a little strange. And then there was another problem, something he’d never brought up to his mom. Well, really he couldn’t. For the last couple of years, quite often, not every time, but often enough, his mother’s loving touch on his bare feet would give him an erection.
He had one now and, but for the baggy sweatpants and sweatshirt he was wearing and a strategically place pillow, it would have been quite apparent. Even then he had to be careful not to shift his body too much. He would be mortified if his mother realized that her son was sporting a stiffie… just for her.
Jacob loved his mother. He knew that without a doubt. But it had been just a couple of years ago that he realized that he was also in love with his mother. That’s when he started getting erections when she massaged his feet.
He knew that he shouldn’t be in love with his mother but as much as he tried to deny it, to tell himself that he was just overly fond of her, it didn’t work. He was in love with his mother and that was why he had a very erect erection right now.
God, how he wanted to expose his hard cock to his mother, have her be happily surprised and to have her place her lovely gentle hands around it, to squeeze it and stroke it. He fantasized about her sucking his cock, coming in her mouth, licking her pussy and, of course, fucking her. Oh yeah, he masturbated nearly every night with the so forbidden but oh so delightful images of embracing his mother, kissing her, fitting his hips between her thighs, sliding his cock into her pussy, and making love to her. His fantasy-driven ejaculations were strong, intense, body-shaking. He imagined having her every way he could think of. And, of course, in his fantasies his mother was a willing and eager lover, desiring him as much as he desired her.
His body gave a little involuntary shiver of lust as images of making sweet love to his mother ran through his mind. He would definitely masturbate again tonight.
“Are you cold,” Rachel asked.
“Uh, no, Mom. It was… I don’t know. My body just kind of did that by itself.”
Damn! I’m going to have to be more careful, Jacob told himself. He did love his mother and he definitely didn’t want to do anything that would shock and embarrass her… or worse, horrify her.
Rachel bostancı escort bayan and Jacob were in the great room on the couch. Quite often they would be in her bedroom suite in their Uncle Joe’s mansion, watching TV there while Rachel massaged her son’s feet. But tonight, as for the last several nights, Uncle Joe was in the hospital and the prognosis didn’t look good.
Jacob was stretched out on the couch with his head resting on another pillow at one end. His mother was sitting at the other end with both of his feet in her lap as she massaged first one then the other. There was a nice fire in the glass enclosed fireplace. It cast a merry light into the room as the wind went from a barely audible moan to a howling crescendo then to a mournful sighing. They had given up on trying to watch TV. There was no signal, probably due to snow covering the satellite receiving dish.
It was dark now and they could no longer see the snow gusting and blowing outside the diamond-shaped leaded windows. The only other light in the room was a small lamp on the end table beside Rachel.
“You were born on a night like this,” Rachel said, looking at the dancing flames in the glass of the stove.
She turned her head to look at her son and smiled, remembering that night. She had told him the story many times before so she wasn’t going to repeat it again.
“Yeah, Mom, you had come to live with Aunt Edna and Uncle Joe.” Jacob smiled back at his mother.
He knew the story well. Aunt Edna and Uncle Joe were his mother’s great aunt and uncle and his great-great aunt and uncle. Edna May Smithfield, nee Landers was the aunt of his mother’s mother, his grandmother, who he had never met and probably never would.
His mother came from a small town in Arkansas and her father was a cotton farmer. He and his wife were also very religious. One might say severely religious. When they found out that their only child, Rachel, had been playing doctor with two of the neighboring farm boys—brothers—and had gotten pregnant, all hell broke loose. His mother’s father had beaten her until her mother had thrown herself bodily on top of her.
Of course, her mother was extremely disappointed in her daughter. The scandal was all that she could think about and how the other church ladies would cluck and sigh and say how sorry they were. It was decided that they should send Rachel to Aunt Edna, if she would have her.
Edna Landers had left that small farming community as soon as she could. She went to college, became a professor of art history at Northwestern University in Evanston, Illinois. She had married a rich industrialist—of course he wasn’t rich at the time, although he was on his way to becoming rich. Edna was considered a snob back in that small town. One who didn’t want to be associated with her family and community and her humble beginnings.
Edna Landers wasn’t ashamed of her family, community, or humble beginnings and she always kept in touch with and visited with Grandma Landers whenever she could until her death several years later. Grandma Landers was the one who inspired her to do what she felt in her heart and who was always on her side.
Rachel’s mother called Aunt Edna and explained the situation and asked if she would take Rachel off their hands. Edna jumped at the chance. Besides the fact that a little premature sexual experimentation didn’t make a girl a slut and a whore—as she could here Rachel’s father shouting in the background—she and her husband, Joe, had failed to produced any children.
Even though Edna was sixty-two years old she wanted to have a young person in the house—a big mansion right on the shore of Lake Michigan in Winnetka, a house too big for just her and her husband but one that came in handy to impress her husband’s business associates and faculty members from Northwestern University when they gave their three or four major parties each year. And the thought of a baby, a newborn, thrilled her.
It was during a snow storm twenty years ago that Jacob was born. It was near blizzard conditions also and Edna couldn’t even get out of the driveway because of the snow when Rachel’s water broke. Her husband, Joe, was stuck at the factory in Chicago and couldn’t get home. The ambulance she called in a panic couldn’t get to them either. A doctor, by phone from the hospital, talked her through the birth and a healthy baby boy, Jacob, was born in her house. Aunt Edna was proud of herself and almost happier than her niece, the new mother.
Edna had made sure that Rachel got through high school and then college. Rachel had majored in business management and went to work for Uncle Joe. Now Jacob was in college majoring in computer science.
Aunt Edna had died two years ago at age 83. She and Joe had been married sixty-one years. Uncle Joe was himself now in the hospital near death. Rachel felt that he was lonely and heartbroken from the lost of his wife.
This house, the big Tudor mansion, had been her home for twenty-one years. She and Jacob had the whole ümraniye escort north wing to themselves. Aunt Edna and Uncles Joe’s master suite was in the south wing.
Rachel and Jacob talked quietly about missing Aunt Edna and the inevitability of losing Uncle Joe. They didn’t speak about the future after that, didn’t want to think about it. It wasn’t that they would have bleak future financially. Edna and Joe had told them that when they died both Rachel and Jacob would be taken care of.
As Rachel spoke she would rub Jacob’s feet for a while then stop, then start again a few moments later. Soon she noticed that Jacob wasn’t responding. She looked over at her son and saw that he was asleep. She smiled. Just like when he was a little boy, she thought. She continued to rub his feet as she stared into the fireplace and the dying flames.
Jacob shifted his hips and the strategically placed pillow tumbled to the floor. Rachel turned her head with a smile upon her lips then her eyes went wide with shock as she noticed what could only be an erection in her son’s sweat pants, like a miniature tent pole sticking up.
Oh my God, she thought, why would Jacob have an erection now. I mean, I know young men are prone to getting them easily, but it’s just the two of us talking… about nothing sexual.
She wondered, could that really be his cock? Could it be something else making his sweatpants stick up like that.
Although she was sure it had to be what she thought it was she was tempted to reach over and touch it to find out.
Oh God, if it is his cock I’ll be so embarrassed. What if I wake him?
Rachel smiled to herself and remembered giving Jacob baths when he was a baby and how his little penis would get hard, usually as a prelude to peeing. Now, her little son was a grown man standing six feet tall in his bare feet and, obviously, his little penis was now a man’s rather large cock.
Without realizing she was doing it, Rachel found that her hand was hovering over the area in her son’s sweatpants that was being poked up so high.
You can’t do this, Rachel, she told herself as she watched her hand surround the cloth-covered “tent pole” and giving it a gentle squeeze. Her heart was beating hard and her breath was coming more rapidly. Oh God yes! It was his cock.
“Mmm, yeah, Mom,” Jacob mumbled.
Rachel’s mouth dropped open and her eyes went wide thinking her son was awake watching her. In her hurry she didn’t get her hand quite high enough as she pulled it back and she gave Jacob’s cock a good bump as her hand pulled away.
Jacob had fallen easily into a doze while his mother was talking and rubbing his feet. He wasn’t quite fully asleep and could hear her quiet voice droning on. Then snatches of dream images began flashing in his mind: His mother’s soft, warm hand gently massaging his cock; seeing her lowering her head to place her mouth over the end of it. And then he felt a tug on his cock and a small gasp and came fully awake.
First he noticed the look of embarrassment on his mother’s face then he realized the pillow had fallen away and his obvious erection exposed.
He quickly pulled himself up into a sitting position, crossed his legs and grabbed the pillow he’d been using for his head to cover his crotch.
“Oh God, Mom! I’m sorry.” He felt the heat in his face as he blushed.
“No, Jacob… . I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… .” Rachel paused and swallowed.
Jacob frowned. “Shouldn’t have… what, Mom?”
Now Rachel felt the heat of embarrassment in her face. “I, uh, shouldn’t have,” she paused and took a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have, uh, grabbed hold of your, your… cock.
“But, Jacob,” she continued quickly, “it was just that I was so surprised to see you had an erection. I mean, this isn’t exactly a sexual situation now is it? And, and, well I just remembered giving you baths when you were young and how cute your little penis was and, and… . Oh hell, Jacob, I don’t know. Part of my mind said that it couldn’t be that you had an erection, that it was something else making a tent in your pants.” Rachel giggled nervously at what she had said.
She took another deep breath. “I’m sorry, son… but then you said, uh, mumbled in your sleep, ‘mmm, yeah, Mom,” and that shocked me.”
Rachel noted the look of embarrassed surprise on her son’s face.
“Jacob, why in the world would you say that?”
Jacob closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, then another. Was this the moment of truth, or should he just pass it off as… well, he didn’t know, something else? No, he told himself firmly, tell Mom how you really feel and let happen what happens.
With his stomach churning Jacob opened his eyes. He took in another deep breath and let it out. “Mom, I’m in love with you.” There, he’d said it. Regardless of how she reacted, he felt a sense of relief.
Rachel furrowed her brow. “Well, yeah, Jacob and I love you, too, but… .”
“No, Mom. I mean, yes, of course I love you, but what I’m saying is that I’m in love with escort kartal you.”
Jacob saw what he’d told his mother slowly dawn upon her. Her mouth opened but she didn’t say anything. Her eyebrows raised and lowered and her forehead furrowed as she took in what, exactly, her son had just told her.
“Mom,” Jacob said, deciding that if he was in for a penny he might as well be in for a pound, “when you heard me say, uh… well, whatever it was, I remember seeing you, dreaming that your hand was on my cock and… and, well, that you were bringing your mouth down to, to suck it. And I remember, in my dream, saying ‘yeah, Mom.’ I was totally excited about that… in my dream.”
Jacob stopped talking.
Rachel didn’t say anything for a while.
“Oh my, Jacob, you’ve taken me by surprise. Uh, I mean… .” She paused to try and understand just what she did mean. “Jacob, are you saying that you got hard, your erection, was because of me?” She already knew the answer. She felt light-headed. She didn’t know how she would respond when her son answered her question.
“Mom,” Jason began, “I realized a few years ago that I was in love with you. Yes, I know society considers it to be wrong. I know you’re probably horrified. But there it is. And yes, my erection was because of you.
“Hell, Mom, I’ve been getting hard when you massaged my feet for a couple of years now. Ever since I got it straight in my mind that it was okay for me to be in love with my mother. Didn’t you noticed how I used a pillow, or turned over on to my side, nearly on my belly when you massaged my feet?”
Rachel looked at her son. “Well… yes. But I just thought that you were more comfortable that way, Jacob.”
“I was, Mom, because I knew you would be shocked and disgusted if you saw I got an erection every time you began rubbing my feet.”
Part of what Jacob had said finally clicked with Rachel. “Wait, what do you mean it’s okay for you to be in love with your mother?”
By now, Jacob’s cock had become flaccid, but he kept the pillow in place anyway.
“I thought I was a totally perverted freak to, to, you know, think about you, my mother, in a sexual way. So I did some research. Well, a lot of research. It seems that most people—mothers and sons as in our case—don’t find each other sexually attractive due to some kind of genetic or cultural thing. But some people don’t feel this, this, uh, repulsion, for lack of a better word. I seem to be one of those people.
“Mom, for whatever reason, I don’t know, but I find you to be sexually attractive. I have for some time now, but I only understood it and accepted it a couple of years ago.
“I’m sorry, Mom, but that’s just how it is.”
“You mean, uh… .” Rachel ran out of words considering the enormity of what her son was suggesting.
“I mean, Mom, to put it as clearly as I can, I want to be your lover,. I want to have sex with you.”
Jacob’s heart was beating hard. He expected his mother to start crying or explode in outrageous anger.
“But, Mom,” he continued before his mother could say anything, “I love you beyond my ability to explain. I love you truly and deeply and if you could accept that… accept me that way, I promise you that I would be faithful to you for the rest of my life.”
At the end of his little speech Jacob had tears in his eyes.
Rachel’s mouth was open but no words were coming out. Oh my God, she thought, my son wants to be my lover, to make love to me, my son who I gave birth too, who I gave baths too, whose diapers I changed, who I watched grow from a small child to a teenager to a strong young man.
Rachel found her voice but she avoided the issue before them. “Jacob, it’s getting late. We both need to go to the hospital to see Uncle Joe in the morning. We probably should go to bed now.”
Since Uncle Joe had been hospitalized Rachel and Jacob had gone to visit him every morning before she went to work and Jacob went to school, and every evening when she got off work and when Jacob got out of school. Rachel had been trained by Uncle Joe in his business and she now ran it nearly as well as he had. But going to see Uncle Joe in the hospital was priority number one, every morning and every evening.
Jacob wiped the tears from his cheeks and let out a big breath. “Sorry Mom. Sorry,” he said as he got up and headed for his room.
Rachel sat on the couch for a while longer looking into the fireplace and the glowing coals, all that was remaining of the fire. She heard the wind whispering and moaning outside.
My son is in love with me and wants to have sex with me, she thought. How can that be?
Since she had played doctor with the neighbor boys on the farm, Rachel had exactly three other sexual encounters, none of which had turned out good. Two of the men had lied to her and had been married, with no desire to divorce their wives—not that Rachel would have wanted them to. The third one wasn’t married but he was only interested in fucking her with no intentions of taking it further than that. She had given up on men, thinking that most of them were not like the man that her Uncle Joe was. She just didn’t want to play the games or look and look to find the “right” man. She learned that solo sex was pretty good and she satisfied herself that way when she felt like it.
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