Suddenly, she stopped everything and told me, "Stop it right there! This needs to stop now. This isn't right and you know it! Let go of me and get out of my room! NOW!" She pushed me off the bed and moved the far side of the bed and stood up. I knew Mom's computer would automatically decode the picture and display it, since I had set the computer up. Finally, after a couple of messages from me, she replied. She said the story was great, but that it stirred up all kinds of feelings in her. Feelings she didn't know if she could share with me, because they weren't right.

She simply pulled it pulled down and slurred that she had to finish dinner. She told me to let her go, she had no time for this now. She got wetter and wetter and her moans grew louder. After only a few minutes, her moaning turned into panting and she pressed my face into her gash. She had gotten to where she would expect a new story every Friday night and she often wrote that she enjoyed them, but it was a shame she was single and didn't have someone to share them with. She finished that drink and was going to start dinner and the alcohol hit her. I had been watching TV, and her, and heard her stumbling in the kitchen. I got up and saw her trying to cut up food for dinner. She was not standing steady, so I offered to help. She said the vodka really hit her, but it would go away in a few minutes: It didn't, in fact it got worse. I didn't know what to say. I know I got flushed right there. After a short pause, she dismissed it as a dream and apologized for even asking and that was the end of it. I sighed in relief after she left my room.It was midweek and I decided to wait until that Saturday. I had to work Saturday morning and by the time I got home she had probably already had two or three drinks. She was somewhat upset and hurt that day and had told me she found out that the man she was talking to at work and having lunch with was married. I waited until she was in the bathroom and got my bottle of Everclear out of hiding and added another shot or so, to the now lower bottle of vodka. When she fixed another drink she looked at her glass after she took the first sip.

At that time, I was supposed to be deciding which university I wanted to attend. My parents had divorced years before and I was strongly leaning toward going to live with my dad and go to school there. My dad had remarried and my mom had been in a string of relationships with some real losers. She really didn't want me to go because I long before became the "man of the house", minus the sex. She really didn't want me to go away and pointed toward all the local universities, and she especially despised the thought of me moving into dad's place. We talked about it a lot that year and when I called my dad to ask for materials from the university in his town, she broke into tears and begged me to stay with her, arguing that the multiple local universities had much more to offer. As a bribe, she even started buying me Playboys and Penthouse Forums (which she enjoyed reading too), simply saying it was normal for me to look at them. Once she rinsed all the shampoo out she noticed me. "Joe, what are you doing in here with me? You need to get out right now! Right now!"After another 7 years, I finally came up with a plan to find out how interested my mother was that would keep either one of us from being embarrassed or looking foolish. I could hear her whispering, "No, we shouldn't be doing this. This is all wrong.. We need to stop now...."

We stared at each other and I could tell her eyes of lust had become anger, guilt, and shame. I started cussing and she told me to go take a shower and cool off. She went on in a raised voice telling me there was NO way we were ever having sex, it simply was not right, etc. I told her that I didn't care what she said. She was my mom and I would always love her. I just hoped I hadn't disappointed her or made her think I was disturbed. She said no, she would never think that.It was the conclusion of the first full year after my parents divorce and Mom and I just watched TV until midnight. At the stroke of midnight, she told me Happy New Year and gave me a kiss on the lips. We had always just kissed on the cheek before. It wasn't a passionate kiss, and I didn't think much of it at the time. Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Incest Mother Son She then admitted that despite how drunk she was, she got aroused too, but she said it just had to stop. Then she changed gears and wanted to make sure I knew how to used condoms. I carried her into the bedroom and gently laid her down on the bed. I crawled up beside her and for the first time since I crawled in bed with her as a kid with nightmares, I felt Mom's bare skin against mine.

Growing up, I often got mixed signals. My mother would walk around the house nude when I was young, but stopped as I got older. I would often go in and talk to her while she was taking a bath and she would make no attempt to cover herself. As a boy, I found myself coming up with excuses to talk to her as she bathed.

I pleaded, "Mom, I saw the look in your eyes earlier and I know you want to have sex with me as much as I want sex with you. Please it will be our secret." I thought everything was OK when she turned and looked at me and asked, "Why were you fondling me in the kitchen last night?" I blushed and tried to say something, but she just cut me off and told me it was normal for young men to fantasize about their mothers; but that it simply wasn't acceptable. She asked me to stop thinking that way about her and definitely stop touching, fondling, or rubbing her private parts. With that she mixed herself a Bloody Mary, which was a change for her and added that she wanted to talk with me about "our situation" a bit later that day. She then called my grandmother (part of their Sunday morning ritual) and I just sat there in the kitchen listening, hoping she wouldn't tell about what happened last night, and she didn't. Then she called my aunt and they chatted for a while as she opened a bottle of wine and poured a glass. I listened in again and she said nothing. She just stared at the floor for several seconds and then said she wanted me to keep sending her stuff and that she actually enjoyed the story. She slowly looked up and I couldn't tell whether she was going to laugh or cry. She looked very nervous.