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Category: Incest
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Look, I know I’m not perfect. I have some problems. I have been to shrinks. They have given me pills. If I took enough of them I could pretend I was normal but that was all it was, pretending. I don’t take the pills anymore. I am nineteen. I guess I probably should. I will probably go see if there are any left in the cabinet.

I’m not violent. Don’t get that idea. I’m just fucked up.

I’m not going to be able to sleep. I don’t sleep a lot. I never have. Tonight I am not going to sleep at all. I am going to sit here in the silence of my dark room and wait. I had to unplug my alarm clock. The glowing blue numbers allowed me to make out just the outlines of the bookcase, my desk, and the shit falling out of my closet but even that was too much. I had put foil on the window already. I could use a towel under the door to block out all the light but I needed the door open. I needed to hear her if she woke up. I needed to hear her if she was barfing or whatever. She was in a bad way, worse than normal. That was the only way it happened. I had never meant for it to happen. It just did.

That’s not true, I had always wanted it to happen.

She had been out. We have always been backwards that way. She was the one with friends I didn’t approve of. She was the one that dated people I didn’t think were good enough for her. I had told her this when I was young. I don’t know how old I was, I just know I was young. Anyway, I’m 19. I am supposed to be out with friends getting fucked up and I am supposed to come home and get bitched at. It’s not like that for us. Mom was out. She had said he was different but he wasn’t. I was watching TV when she got home. I’m not in school anymore and I had gotten fired so I had no reason not to watch TV. I was watching TV. She couldn’t get her key in the door. When I opened it for her she was pressed up against the Jam. She dropped her keys as she came in. She stumbled for the hall that led past my shitty bedroom to her shitty bedroom. She only made it as far as my bathroom. She missed the toilet. Fuck, she was so high I was surprised it hit the door. You can tell when she is high and drunk instead of just drunk. She is sweet. She apologized for the puke. She had it all over her. I helped her to the crapper and took her purse and got it off her shoulder and out of the way as she emptied the rest of her night out. I should have gone to college. I could have. It wouldn’t have even cost us anything, I am fucking brilliant when I want to be and she is broke so school would have been free but it seemed like a lot of work to not make any money. I had to get her out of her shirt. There wasn’t much shirt but what little there was I got off of her. I would probably just throw it away.

I noticed the bruises. They were on her arms and were in the exact shape of his hands. If I were the violent type I would have done something about it. Sometimes I wished violence was my problem. Instead I just patted her head. She wanted water so I got her one. While I was gone she pissed herself.

She was so sorry. That’s how I knew she was high. She told me what a good boy I was. She was just looking at me. Her makeup wasn’t fucked up. She hadn’t been through too much. I had seen her on nights when she looked like the pillow Jean Simmons passed out on. She was pretty. She was only forty. She could do better than the asshole she had gone out with.

“No I can’t,” she said. It wasn’t emotional. She wasn’t crying on my shoulder. She was stating a fact, like the carpet was green or our POS Chevy was blue.

I pulled her out of the bathroom floor and the random puddles of puke to the hallway and pulled her boots off of her. She had pissed herself, I think I said that, I struggled with her belt. She giggled at me then helped. I undid the buttons that held her jeans closed and stood to pull them off of her. She thought it was hilarious.

Her red panties matched her bra. I hated myself for noticing.

She giggled when I pulled her to her feet. She grasped onto me as we made the few steps the rest of the way to her bed where I laid her out. She should pass out and wake up in the morning. I doubted she would remember any of it.

I watched her writhe on the bed, she flapped about like a turtle on its back. “Help me, goddamnit.”


“This bra pinches. Help me.” I knew I shouldn’t but I knew I had to. Or I knew I had to but knew I shouldn’t, I don’t fucking know. “it’s not like you haven’t seen them.”

I had. She wasn’t all that prudish when it came to laying in our shitty little yard naked, or walking around the house naked. I pretended not to look.

I undid the clasp. It pulled easily off of her shoulders. I had no idea how a bra came off. It left her on her back, miles and miles of smooth tanned skin. She could do so much better.

“It’s okay.” She said. It startled me and I looked up at her. She was watching me look at her.

No, it so fucking isn’t, I thought. I didn’t stop though. There were small triangles from her good bikini. The triangles were tan too, just not as tan as the circles in the middle of them or the flesh outside of them.

Yes. I wanted to, but I wasn’t going to.

“Have you touched a breast before, Zachary?” she asked me quietly. She called me Zachary. I was suddenly six years old and there was nothing worse than lying to your mother.

“No, Mother.” I whispered, hoping she couldn’t hear.

“Do you want to?” she asked. She was smiling – it was peaceful and gentle.

I didn’t answer; I just extended two long thin fingers until they met the soft flesh that was the swell of her breast.

“Don’t poke, baby. Use your whole hand. Run it smoothly over my breast. Feel the nipple in your palm.”

Dutifully I did as she asked. I can’t explain to you how it felt. I suppose either you know or you don’t. It isn’t what your fingers touch that you are feeling, it is how the rest of you feels as you touch one. I swelled with the sensation.

It was awkward to stroke both breasts at the same time. One arm was bent too much, the other had to extend too far but I had to do it. I suffered through it, her breasts, large, full, soft breasts filling my hands.

They aren’t headlights or melons or any of those things. That is just the bullshit boys say that don’t know. They are boobs, they are breasts, they are a unique tactile experience.

“Just like that,” she said. Startling me out of my trance. I released her immediately. I shirked away from her, I backed quickly for the door, too quickly and bumped her dresser.

“Zachary, come here.” She said.

“I need to get some sleep.” I plead.

“Zachary,” she said firmly.

I understood the crossroads I stood at. I understood where each path went and that one was good and one was bad. I understood all the things I had heard in Sunday school on the few trips we had made to church. I knew what Jesus wanted, or God, whatever. I knew what the other path meant as well. I took only two steps down that path but they were enough to bring me back to the foot of her bed.

She pulled me to her. I don’t know how she did it, Jesus, it wasn’t like physically. She didn’t reach out with her arm and yank me on top of her but the pull was no less perceptible. I collapsed onto her more than anything else. What I wanted to do, what I had to do, wasn’t a conscience decision but an instinct. I don’t know if it was because of some mother/son instinct or if it is just what guys naturally do to any breasts laid bare in front of them but I buried my face in her chest, I sucked voraciously, pulling her nipple into my mouth. She squeaked, I thought in pain, and I pulled away only to have her hand physically grasp me, this time, yes, physically, pulling me back to her. “No baby, that was good. That sound was good,” she said. I was more careful this time. “No baby, like before. Harder.”

I did what I was told and ignored the sounds she made. She cried. I looked at her eyes for the black streaks but there were none. She tugged me back again and I continued.

I changed breasts and did the whole thing again and she writhed about the bed, long waved of her dark brown hair flapping about the pillows. God, she is pretty.

“Roll over,” she said. At least I think she said it, she might just have pushed me. She had a much easier time with my jeans than I had with hers. I felt the release of the tight denim, they were old and too small and then I felt her lips on mine.

Her kiss was slimy and there was a slight fruit flavor that didn’t entirely cover up the taste of her vomit. Her fingers were right there, they were so close, and then they weren’t close at all but were a vice surrounding my dick and clamping down about it and I felt it twitch and splatter inside of my boxers, my jizz a sticky mess in my pants.

“Oh, Zachary,” she cooed at me. She kissed me again. It was over, I presumed. “Oh baby, that’s okay.” More kissing chased away most of the acid taste. “Take these off.”

I did as she asked. I was down to just my old PE T-shirt. She pointed at it and I understood. I tugged it off my shoulders and over my head.

“You are so beautiful.” She cooed at me. She reached out and took my hand. “Come here.”

As I understand it, there is supposed to be a waiting period, like a blaster rifle in a video game that needs to recharge. In dirty stories, its not like that. There is always a hard cock prepared to spray cum on the next hooker or cheerleader in line. For me I guess I am more filthy porn than sex-ed because even after the incident in my shorts my dick was hard. It was really hard, harder than normal.

She put me in her mouth. Just for like a second. I don’t know if that is a blow-job or not. I don’t think so. Then she lied back on the bed.

There was no decision-making process. There was no second-guessing. There were two long legs, thin thighs, a slight tuft of curly black hair, and a pair of breasts resting gently on the horizon. I didn’t do any of the things you read about women wanting you to do at that point. I wanted to leave and yet I knew I couldn’t. I imagine a man who has just jumped off a bridge. He was intending to kill himself but after he hit the water and sank a few feet he still wanted to die and he knew if he wanted to he could just sink until he had to breathe but instead of doing that he flails his feet and struggles with his arms desperate to get back to the surface. I did not want to do what I did but I did it. I had to.

She purred at me like a kitten. Her hands were gentle on my arms and my back. Her thighs were so soft they didn’t feel like skin but more like those satin sheets you see at the mall that are so soft you cant imagine they are sheets. My cock, it was surrounded in softness. It was mired in delicate. I could tell, vaguely, that it was warm and moist, but mostly, almost unbearably, I was wrapped in gentleness.

As I moved on top of her, desperate to bury myself deeper into the heavenliness of her I thought briefly that it wasn’t my first trip in there. See, fuck, there is something wrong with me.

She moaned and that was it. It was another violent gasping jizz fest.

“No. Stay. More.” The short words sputtered out of her lips her legs and arms grasping at me preventing any chance that I might flee.

We coupled until I no longer felt myself inside of her. I was just moving. I was the poor asshole on the stationary bicycle that can’t feel anything anymore except a burning in their legs and the electronic digits counting down.

She let me go eventually but now I didn’t want to move. I just lay there. My cock was still inside of her; I felt her gently pulsing around me. Once I opened my eyes to look at her. Her beautiful lips were just as red; her hair was still a deep dark brown mess around her head. Her smile was so peaceful. I couldn’t help but hold her. She had that happiness that she has when I undo an Easter basket or a Christmas present. I am too old for either but there is that simple bliss on her face when I do that I am sure I will still collect a present even when I get my shit together and get the hell out.

It was only when she snored that I got up and came to my own bed. I laid there beneath the covers naked for a long time but then realized she might get up and she might come to me and find me naked and realize what a filthy fuckup I am.

When the sun came up I checked on her. She had gotten up in the night. I didn’t think I’d slept but I must have because there was now an empty beer can in bed with her. Most of it was poured out, a wet spot on the mattress beside her but she must have gotten thirsty in the night.

I took a pill before I left. It would take a couple of days for it to kick in. I figured if I went down to the truck stop I could get a job washing the trucks or being a busboy, they had plenty of work at the truck stop. It would be a few months but if I saved I could get out. There were lots of towns, most of them with better placed to work than fast food or a truck stop.

I rode my bike toward the freeway.

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Bradley wrote

I’m a horny boy I want to fuck a milf and call her mommy (I go to the gym every day and I drive a motorcycle)

Chris wrote

I gotta say, this was a really good written story. It was believable and interesting. I was completely pulled in and am intrigued by the characters’ dynamics. Lol I would read a whole book about this dude and his relationship with his mother.