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.

The next weekend, I decided to make an unannounced visit. She lived in an apartment in town, so I stopped by and found her by the pool. She was in a simple one-piece bathing suit. Her hair was starting to gray and her body had just a little bit of sage, but she was still beautiful. 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. She got me a big box of Trojans, ultra sensitive, and after we got in and she poured herself a glass of wine. Then she looked at me and offered me a glass saying if I was old enough to register for the draft, I ought to be old enough to have a glass of wine. I took it and we went to the sofa with the box of condoms and our wine.

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." 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. We bought the condoms and I spotted a new Penthouse Forum, which we both enjoyed reading privately at that time. On the way home, the conversation was about where I was going to college. She repeated that was what I should be concentrating on, not sex. We talked about colleges and I was careful not to bring up moving to dad's place, but as we pulled into the driveway, she brought it up. We sat in the car in the garage arguing about it for a while. Then we went inside. 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've had fantasies about my own mother for many years and I long suspected she had more than just maternal feelings for me, too. Neither of us had ever acted on them, however. 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. 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.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 knew Mom's computer would automatically decode the picture and display it, since I had set the computer up. She turned the water off and started to get out when I grabbed her and pulled close to me. She yelled, "No Joe, please stop this!"

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As the years passed, however, I found myself fondly remembering that kiss and wishing I had made an effort to go further. 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. 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.

I went to the kitchen for another glass of wine and then remembered the guys at work talking about cold showers and thought I'd try that. It worked for about 10 minutes then I was hard again. I did the well, and began unrolling the condom down my shaft and the well disappeared as I unrolled it down. I asked her if we could go to her bedroom after dinner and didn't get an answer. After she put dinner in the oven, she poured yet another drink and passed out on the sofa again. 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.

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I could hear her whispering, "No, we shouldn't be doing this. This is all wrong.. We need to stop now...." I replied that I also had a collection of stories, but they might be a bit graphic for her tastes. She asked me to send her one and she would be the judge. 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. 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.