Title: Mothers Manifesto - Her Education
Keywords: mF, teen, mat, inc, mom, son, voy, nosex
Author: Caesar
Summary: There is an essay being shared between single mothers that suggests their teenage son's can be managed with love as well as lust.  For Jill, its an awakening when her best friend Jude gives her the work while proudly displaying herself as proof of its authenticity.





There was a young student from Yale
Who was getting his first piece of tail.
        He shoved in his pole,
        But in the wrong hole,
And a voice from beneath yelled: "No sale!"

 


A Mothers Manifesto - Her Education

by Caesar, copyright 2004

$Revision: 1.3 $ $Date: 2007-12-02 07:47:45 $

"Just promise me that you won't judge me by the contents OK?"  I
tentatively took the red plastic lined folder after that odd warning.

Jude carefully looked over each shoulder, as if expecting there to be
someone watching.  There wasn't of course, it was a rather quiet
Thursday morning and the coffee shop was near-empty.

The cover stated, "A Mother's Manifesto".  I rose a single eyebrow as
a a silent question to my best friend and she simply shrugged her
shoulders and nodded with her chin towards the red covered folder.

I thought it was some type of joke book - making fun of the things
that all parents, mothers, seemed to endure when living with teenage
children.  In my case, my son Barry - Jude, her son John.

She must have seen my impatience with this sort of material - feeling
as if I had no time for such humorous contemplations.  Jude leaned
into, and practically over the tiny round table, and whispered, "Just
try it Jill."

I dropped the folder on the table next to my large mocha, not
convinced but intrigued.  My friend was acting like this was no joke
though and there was enough respect built up between us for me to
trust her judgement.

I resolved to look at it later in the week.

Jude has been my friend on and off since high school - many years ago
- but became my best friend when our husbands left us about the same
time, approximately three years before.  My other, so called, friends
had abandoned me when my marriage failed.  Our sons were approximately
the same age as well - our only children.  At first, after our divorce
settlements were finalized, we used each other for comfort, shoulders
to cry on - as only girls can do with another.  Then we realized
pleasantly that we enjoyed the others company and continued to seek
each other even after our lives finally started to upswing from our
failed marriages.

For our friendship - I owed it to her to find time to read the
contents of that red folder with its mysterious name.  It was the
least I could do for her - regardless of how odd the request was.

Jude saw my inner reflection and the result before smiling gently,
reaching for her cappuccino.  We both knew that I would read it.

 -*-

Three nights later I lay beneath my heavy down comforter, my reading
glasses perched at the end of my nose, and opened the front cover of
the well-worn folder.  "A Mother's Manifesto - An Essay Into
Mother/Son Relations".  There was a name of the author beneath, but it
had been scratched out long ago.

The paper was obviously a photocopy of probably a photocopy, the
quality wanting, but legible enough to still read.

The date beneath the scratched out name was twelve years before.
Though does parenting really change that much that it could be
considered out of date or old fashioned?

It looked like someone's thesis or term paper.  If not for the
mysterious way Jude had given it to me or my commitment to our
continued friendship, I would not have turned to the next page.

I read the opening statement silently, forcing myself to read it to
its three page conclusion.  It was like seeing a horrific car accident
on the highway and slowing down so as to not miss a thing.

The red folder dropped to my lap as I yanked off my glasses.

"My god Jude...?"  My best friend could not hear me of course.

The Manifesto was an essay on seducing your son!  What kind of filth
was Jude giving me?

The opening lines were so seductive to the divorced middle-age woman
with a teenage son - seeming to speak from experience.  The numerous
tensions of a growing boy, the adolescent distractions... his sexual
awakening.

The second page had started to suggest how many sons' realize their
mother's are women as well as their parent.  Feeling a clench in my
heart, I kept reading, agreeing with the unknown author.  The end of
that same page explained that most mother's knew of their child's
sexual awakening but felt powerless, confused, proud and even a little
intrigued.  It was all so true - at least from my own experience.

That was the reason I went on to the final page of the opening
statement.  Then the author suggested a way to help the relationship,
to allow the mother to help her child while also keeping a semblance
of maternal control over him.  That suggestion was sexual in nature!

The author had to be a woman - had to be a single mom of a teenage
boy!  Yet, the implications of what was being suggested was nothing
less than shocking!

I picked the red folder off my lap and turned to the first chapter and
began to read.

 -*-

"What was your reasoning for giving me the folder Jude?"  My fingers
were white where I clenched the phone in my hand.

It was only seven thirty Monday morning and I had barely closed my
eyes all night.

"Can we discuss this later Jill?"  She sounded embarrased... as well,
she should!

We made plans for this coming Thursday morning, same coffee shop.

As soon as the phone was placed back on to the table before me, Barry
strode in looking refreshed and ready for the start of his week. "Hi
mom.  Can't stop for breakfast... gotta run!"

I watched my son walk by me and faced the empty doorway to the hallway
until I heard the back door open and then close.  This morning so much
like all the others recently.

The first chapter of the Manifesto spoke about male adolescence - of
growing up as a young man.  It never suggested it was easy.  In fact,
it detailed many things that a young man could be distracted from his
path in life.  Though written from a woman's perspective, it seemed to
understand the complications of every teenage boy's life - which even
included my son.

    [... Your son will be undergoing many changes at this time,
    changes that he may not even comprehend and you may find
    bewildering and even frightening...]

Barry had been such a loving and polite child - but when he hit
puberty, he had changed.  For one, his choice of companions was
something to be desired - spending all his free hours with a trio of
boys and one girl that skipped school and constantly got into trouble
around our town.  They all dressed in torn jeans, loose tee shirts and
sneakers without socks - and all carried these long wooden
sticker-covered skateboards wherever they went.

Two weeks ago I had found a rather large zip-lock bag of, what was
obviously, marijuana in my son's sock drawer when I was putting away
his clean clothing.  The confrontation was ugly - he yelling that he
was holding it for a 'friend', I knew it to be one of the boys he hung
with, but swore he didn't 'use'.

That scene had lead to a long talk with a seemingly understanding Jude
late into the night on the phone and then that last meeting where she
had handed me the secret Manifesto.

What had she said at that first meeting, that she 'understood' and had
something for me.  The red binder obviously.

What had she understood though?  John, Jude's son, was a good boy
wasn't he?  Well, there was that period last school year - something
about an irate father confronting Jude about her son partaking in an
orgy with his daughter, the same daughter having come up pregnant.  It
all seemed to disappear after the paternity test confirmed John was
not the sperm donor.  Jude's term not mine.  I can still remember the
tears, the numerous calls and meetings to give her my support - before
it slowly disappeared into nothing.

The last chapter in the essay spoke about keeping the contents of the
work secret, shared only between women of similar circumstances.  Had
Jude received the Manifesto at that stressful time in her life?

    [... Though intended to be shared between like-minded-ladies,
    please be discreet and careful to whom you give your trust...]

Then the last section - in lined pages obviously not part of the
original essay - in that dozens of different people had hand written
in comments, signing with initials and what looked like names.  The
last was signed, 'J (39) & J (16)', beneath three words 'a great
success'.

 -*-

When I got home from work just after eleven Wednesday night, I found
my son Barry watching television in the darkened living room of our
apartment.

He did not even look up as I stepped in and fell onto the couch across
from him, and rather, kept on changing channels with the remote.  His
eyes glued to the television.

Since staying up all Sunday night, I had not yet caught up on my sleep
and it was taking its toll - I felt incredibly old and worn out.  I
was still able to ask sternly, in a maternal parent sort of way, "Up a
little late for a school night aren't you Barry?"

"I'm off to bed soon mom.  Anyways, first class was cancelled
tomorrow."

I didn't challenge this last part - having discovered months ago of my
son's increasing need to lie to me when confronted, not even seeming
to care if he was caught or not.  There seemed to be nothing I could
do - yelling or talking to him was like speaking to a rock and just as
frustrating, he was to old to threaten with corporal punishment and
there was simply to support from his school.  If a kid goes bad, and I
was increasingly worried that mine was, there was simply nothing that
can be done.

After a late shift at the hospital I just wanted to have a quick hot
shower and climb into bed to sleep and did not need this confrontation
to explode into a loud argument.

Retreating to my room was what I was determined to do, as fast as I
could, when I lifted one of my sore still-clad feet up to my knee to
remove the ugly shoes I wore.  They were supposed to be well
cushioned, made specifically for nurses like I - but as the years
passed, the end of my shifts could not come fast enough to get off my
feet and no matter how comfortable a shoe was, it was never as good as
soaking in a tub or laying in bed.

I was just undoing the white laces of the shoe when I thought of how
absurd that stupid Manifesto had been - sure my son and I had our
problems, but to suggest an improper relationship between us as a way
to help seemed ludicrous.

Then I caught my son sneaking a peek beneath the bottom hem of my
nurses uniform.

With my ankle up on the opposite knee, my thighs were spread rather
wide and unladylike as my skirt was only knee length and hid nothing.
Though it was rather dim, I could tell the radiating light from the
television was lighting that space beneath my skirt so that Barry must
have a view nearly up to my covered panties.

In my weariness, I had forgotten my propriety.

Looked at coldly, Barry could see next to nothing - his mother's soft
meaty thighs covered in white nylon.  Perhaps the more obvious shade
of white beneath the crotch of my nylons, my panties, about my groin.

Yet the words I had spent all the previous night reading, only three
days before, seemed to come back to me - of a child spying on his
mother.  Innocently looking at the only woman in the world that they
loved unconditionally but felt compelled to explore the female form
that she represented.

    [... It may surprise you that nearly every male teenager goes
    through a period of appraising his own mother's body.  You are the
    first woman in his life, possibly the only one that he grew up
    loving and trusting...]

The essay had said teenage boys will go to great lengths, some better
at hiding their actions that others, to look upon their own mother's
body.

I had read the passage quickly, thinking it had not applied to Barry
and I.  There was simply never a second that I thought my son gazed
upon me as boys did when I was his age.  In fact, it had been years
since the last time I noticed a male of our species looking at me that
way.  It was, up to that moment, impossible to contemplate my son
doing so.

More the fool was I.

    [... Look for small signs in your son's behaviour; perhaps he
    drops his fork at the table to look up your skirt, or ...]

It had been barely a handful of seconds since the awareness of my
child's eyes when an urge to drop my ankle from my knee and clamp my
knees together.  Yet the author had written at length at how positive
it was what Barry was doing.

    [... How can any woman truly compare to a man's mother?  Of course
    he will look at your body in ways he never had before hitting
    puberty!  Your son is turning into a man - a man that uses you as
    his muse, your his first and finest example of womanhood...]

So I took a deep breath and forced myself to finish untying my shoe,
pulled it off my weary foot and then quickly massaged my sore instep.
Stop this I screamed at myself, confused and hurt at being looked at
this way in my own home.

Barry could not keep his eyes from beneath my skirt, though I could
tell peripherally that he was nervously looking at my face to see if I
was aware of his interest while I forced myself to watch the
television.

My heart was beating rapidly in my chest when I dropped my foot and
brought up the other - repeating the procedure that I often did every
night after work.  Though, usually, in the privacy of my bedroom.

After the second foot was done, I could not retreat to the privacy of
my bedroom fast enough.

There, I had a longer hotter shower than I intended, but my
fast-beating heart needed settling and I could not help but remember
those words I had read barely days before.

    [... What a teenage boy does to quench his rising new desires
    coursing through his body may surprise and shock you...]

Stepping back into my bedroom, a large bathroom towel wrapped about
me, I felt something - call it intuition - and looked about my room
nervously.  I have had a long enough day and definitely enough
startling discoveries this last week to last a year.  My eyes scanned
the room but eventually dropped to my hastily discarded work clothing
at the foot of my bed.  It all seemed as I had left it, but a growing
anxiety told me to keep searching.

There, inside the rumpled sweaty nylons where I had stripped them off
hurriedly, was where my panties should have been.  It was missing!  I
often removed my nylons with my panties, at the same time - to save
myself redundant movement and time after a long day.

Using my bare foot, I kicked around with my toe, trying to prove to
myself that I was overreacting.  I could not be overdoing it - they
were not on the floor - in the place that I had disrobed several
minutes before.

Quickly going to my dresser, I dropped the towel, put on a comfortable
cotton panty and an over-sized white cotton tee-shirt - my normal bed
attire.  Then I opened my bedroom door to silence.  I had been praying
for the sounds of the television from down the hallway - but there was
nothing.  My son had gone to bed - as evidenced by the white light
coming from beneath his door.  Striding on bare feet, I was silent as
I strode to a spot directly in front of my son's door and reached for
the handle before stopping a millimetre away from grasping it.

A rhythmic sound came to my ears - barely heard even though our
apartment was otherwise silent - and a fear clenched my heart before I
dared open that door.

I did not want to find what the evidence suggested - I had not the
strength to see my fifteen year old son masturbating with his own
mother's panties.  And that was exactly what he was doing right?

Backing away from that door as if it were alive and had fangs, I
closed my own secretively and crawled into bed to weep myself to
sleep.  How could I have been so blind?

 -*-

Jude watched me enter the shop, order, pay for and then retrieve my
mocha before striding to her corner table.

My heart was already beating rapidly and my palms sweaty - and that
before my first drink of caffeine!

Before I could say a word - though I have no idea what I was about to
say or ask - Jude leaned in and asked, "So now you know?"  She smiled
privately and then sipped her double chocolate cappuccino while
watching me over the rim of her cup.

My friend could not have said anything more startling to me just then,
"My god Jude - its all true, you and John?"  My voice was but a
whisper though I hissed the words, her words confirming what I only
denied up to that point.

Her smile disappeared and she spoke defensively, "I am a good mother
Jill!"

Yet, one that used sex to control her son.  The Manifesto had gone
into great depth about the benefits and methods to do just that.  What
I did not know, is to what degree had Jude sunk too?  I mean, the
essay had detailed many ways that a mother can use sexuality to help
or submit, as I tend to think it, her child.  The essay had used a
whole chapter to explain how a fully exclusive and unhindered sexual
relationship was the best approach for any mother to take.  "Have you
had sex with him?"

    [...Think of sexuality as your way to keep your child on the right
    path for life.  He is starting on that path toward adulthood, who
    better to be his guide!...]

Though I told myself that I did not want to know before the question
had even finished coming from my lips, since in my heart I already
knew the answer.

Jude suddenly stood and asked coldly, "Shall we walk down by the
beach?"  I stood, drink in hand, and walked beside her a little
bewildered.

My best friend did not say a word until we were slowly striding down
by the sea wall, a ten minute walk from the coffee shop.  In a patient
voice she spoke, "You remember the troubles John was getting into a
few months ago right Jill?  He was having 'sex parties' with friends
of his - girls as young as twelve!"  I could hear her disgust - her
frustration.  Perhaps even some of her fear, fear of the loss of her
son's future to his adolescent games.

I had not known about the sex parties - but I knew many of her son's
problems stemmed from sexual acts.  Until the troubles started, John
had always been a very bright boy with a good future ahead of him.

She continued unashamed, "Mrs. Washington - John's English teacher -
last year called me in to the school and gave me the binder."  My son
Barry did not have that teacher as yet, but I could probably guess her
circumstances - divorced, teenage son.  It seemed to be a rather
common story in my circle of acquaintances.  The binder, of course,
was "A Mother's Manifesto".

"I read it probably a dozen times, feeling like it was written for me
specifically."  I nodded at this, feeling much the same way...
unfortunately.  Jude did not notice my movement and kept talking, "I
felt so inadequate - to think my son would be sexually interested in
me rather those hard bodied teenage girls he was fucking - was an
absurd thought."  In all our years, I had never heard Jude use that
word!  It helped prove, if only to myself, that my life was
drastically changing.

Though I have not decided if it was for the good or bad as yet!

Jude was not an unattractive woman - though the teenage cuteness that
I first knew was lost in the extra pounds and the many years.  That
left a soft, well padded, though not fat in any way, middle-aged
woman.  She was right, I realized with a start, how could she compete
with those pretty teenage girls her son must have been sharing with
his friends?

    [... Each couple is different, but consider the direct approach?
    Your own confusion and struggle will diminish in that moment of
    truth, if you offer your child yourself...]

"So I took the direct approach that the Manifesto suggested."  I
returned to those badly photocopied pages in my mind, but did not have
a chance to remember before Jude continued.  "I walked into my son's
room late one night dressed in new lingerie beneath my robe - sat down
on his bed - and told him that I loved him, wanted him to return to
getting good marks, to forget those parties and those friends.  In
exchange for this I told him that I would be his private lover, that I
would do any sexual act for him, as often as he wanted.  I then stood
and dropped the robe and struck a pose."  She chuckled pleasantly for
a brief second at her memory before explaining, "The rest, as they
say, is history!"

We walked some minutes in silence before I blurted out, without any
planning on my part I assure you, "I discovered Barry stealing my
soiled panty last night."  My revelation may have been my way of
altering the topic - for not wanting to learn more intimate details of
Jude and her son.

A few steps later Jude asked casually, "Did he leave you a little
present afterwards?"

It took me a second to realize what she meant, my face heating up so
that I knew it was turning crimson, "My god Jude!  No, he did not!"
But I had not found the lost undergarment yet, and wonder exactly in
what condition it would be when I discovered it.  The thought clenched
my fast beating heart tightly and I felt embarrassed that I had not
thought about what the condition of the garment, post use.

Minutes passed and my feet were starting to tire in my flat bottomed
sandals when Jude finally broke the thick silence by stopping,
grabbing my elbow so I did the same then turning to look me in the
eye.  "Listen Jill.  What you do with your son is no one else's
business, but the Manifesto changed our lives for the better, perhaps
it could do the same for you?"

When I did not answer directly, but in fact stood stupidly with my
mouth open like a fish, my best friend added boldly, "Besides", she
chuckled, "my son is insatiable!"

Jude did not seem the least disturbed what she was revealing was
nothing less than incest.

 -*-

Throughout the whole of the Manifesto, it does not use the word
'incest'.  I took that as a warning once I thought about it in that
term and after speaking with my friend Jude.  It went into great depth
about the emotional, physical and psychological aspect of a sexual
relationship with one's child - but it never spoke the bold truth and
called it for what it was.

    [... A mother and son affair is the purest kind of physical love -
    one that includes trust, love and lust in the truest sense...]

Friday afternoon I was sorting the laundry by piling the whites and
the darks on the floor of our hallway when I found the missing panty.
It had been stuffed deep down in the laundry so that it was beneath
clothing from a week ago.

Holding it with the tip of my forefinger and thumb, as if it was
diseased, I could see the discolouration in the crotch.  I brought it
up before my eyes, though an arms distance away, and stared at it.
There were the normal residual marks from wearing my garment over a
long day - but higher up in the crotch, the front of the white satin
panty, was a dark unknown stain.

I knew what it was of course, prior to lifting my other hand to touch
the discolouration with the tip of one finger.  It was dry, but felt
rough, coarse.  As if I were looking at that accident again, I
scratched my nail over the inner surface of the normally smooth silky
interior of my panty.  I scrapped away some white dried substance.

It would have been missed if I had not been looking for it.  Obviously
the 'present', as Jude liked to call it, was that Barry had
left. There had even been an attempt to clean it before depositing it
into the hamper.

The panty fell from my fingers into the white sorted pile.

How can a son do that with his mother's soiled underwear?  It was
disgusting!

    [... Sometimes your son will leave you an indication of his
    confusion and lust for you - often this is a mark in your bed,
    your panties or sometimes even in your food...]

The Manifesto attempted to explain that what my son was doing should
be taken positively as an expression of Barry's love and not the
disgusting way that I naturally felt.

Indeed, my son had left me a 'present', I thought grimly.

When I heard the door open, I immediately shoved the dirty panty into
the clothes washer, pushing other clothing in afterwards.  I did this
as if I was the guilty party and not my son.  When Barry appeared
around the corner, as usual carrying his sticker-covered skateboard,
he blurted, "Just dropping off my bag mom and heading back out!"  He
did not even look my way and could not see the bright red of his
mother's cheeks.

 -*-

Two weeks went by and I lived my days like a scared rabbit - looking
for secret looks from my son, for missing clothing... even for holes
between our shared bedroom wall.

    [... How can a mother that truly loves her son deny him anything -
    including herself? ...]

At night I locked my bedroom door and read various chapters of the
Manifesto again and again.  It was stating that a mother who truly
loved her son would do anything for him.  It suggested the sexual
outlet of his own parent would allow him to focus on other parts of
his life - to excel in sports, school or even emotional and physical
development.  As Jude would attest too, the Manifesto also suggested a
bad kid can be brought back into the fold in the same way.

I would not say that I considered such a thing between Barry and I -
but I became more open about the idea, and not so disgusted.  The
initial shock of what was suggested in the essay had worn off - now I
told myself that the woman that had wrote it was so in tune with
teenage boys and their single mothers, that I could receive some
insight into how best to reach my son.  That is not to suggest any
inappropriate relationship between us - only that there may be other
clues in the well written text.

Also, I used the excuse about learning what had gotten into my friend
Jude, why she was living a secret sexual life with her only child as
well?  As a friend, I owed it to learn as much as possible and perhaps
guide her away from that evil path.  Right?

Of course I was simply lying to myself - two weeks after finding the
discarded sperm-soaked panty in the wash, I had passed that first
mental hurdle toward the impossible.  I set the Manifesto onto my lap,
pulled off my reading glasses and asked myself what it would hurt, if
Barry found a reason to stay home and catch peeks of his old mom?

As soon as I thought that, I was stunned at myself and immediately
shoved the red binder into my bedside drawer, turned off the light and
clenched my eyes tight to fall asleep.  I didn't, of course.  I lay
thinking about the words in the essay over and over - shocked that the
recommendations within were starting to make sense to me and my child.

 -*-

Every Saturday morning Barry and I usually slept in, then he would
disappear for the remainder of the day.  My guess, he ran out to be
with those other boys and that girl that I did not like - their little
deviant group - skateboarding around the neighbourhood, perhaps doing
drugs, and whatever else I did not want to know about.

After my shower I slipped on my old white terrycloth bath robe and did
not think about how I must look until I was stepping into the kitchen.
My son's eyes rose from his bowl of cereal and immediately locked upon
the movement of my chest beneath my robe.

I actually stopped frozen for almost three seconds before turning
toward the fridge to hide my embarrassment and my surprise.  "Want a
glass of orange juice honey?"

"Sure mom."

I brought two glasses over and set them before our normal spots at the
table.  Barry was starring down at his cereal but I could feel the
awkwardness of the moment - could tell that he wanted to look up at
his old mother's unhindered bosom beneath her loosely tied robe.

When I turned back to my cereal, which I had prepared and left on the
counter, I did something that I would never have done without the
Manifesto guidance.  With a quick movement of my hand, I loosened the
top part of my robe just enough so that it ballooned open easily.

Oh, it did not show my whole chest off, just an abundant amount of
cleavage.  And I did not put any forethought into the action, I only
did it, I told myself, to see how Barry would react.  It was simply a
test of course.

Turning back toward the table with my hands holding the full bowl
before me, Barry did a double take of his head, his eyes growing wide
as he watched me approach.

This cunning mother stepped up to her place, directly opposite my
son's, and bent over slowly to set the bowl down.  I stayed in this
pose for several pregnant seconds before sitting back into my chair.

I knew, without looking down, that my son had received an eyeful!  One
breast was nearly exposed to the nipple, the other much of the inside
curve.  Barry was sitting across from me, staring with an open mouth
at my exposed cleavage.

I took two mouthfuls of cereal before reaching up with my free hand to
close my robe.  That was quite enough of that, I scolded myself.

Test over!

Barry blinked several times then turned back to his cereal.

My heart was beating and I kept stealing little looks at my fifteen
year old son.

There was several things that amazed me about what had just happened,
not the least of which, that I had had the guts to do such a thing!  I
am a thirty nine year old woman who looked her age.  I had a thin
face, long legs, small hands and feet, wide hips and a jutting ass and
large 'C' cup breasts.  Sounds fine right?  Well, add to that mix,
stretch marks on my waistline and beneath my navel - crows feet at the
corners of my eyes, laugh lines at the corners of my generous mouth,
breasts that hung too low on my chest, my ass sagged and with at least
twenty pounds overweight.  To think that a teenage boy would look at
me the way that Barry had just done - wide eyed, obviously with
pleasure - was unthinkable until this moment.  Oh sure, I had asked
myself that question the night before, I did not seriously believe I
had the goods to entice anyone.

    [...with love, every person can be loved.  The physical aspect is
    much more insignificant than society may think...]

I tried to hide our mutual embarrassment by asking, "What are your
plans today honey?"

Barry shrugged, "Out with the guys I guess.  You mom?"

I hated when he hung around with those teenage hooligans!  My mouth
moved, voicing a thought I had had the night before, "Oh, I thought I
would do some tanning on our patio."  We had a private, small, high
fenced, patio attached to our apartment.

If I had been expecting a reaction, Barry would have disappointed me.
He simply nodded and then ate the last bite of his food before jumping
up and running from the room.

The final startling revelation for me that morning was that my darling
son was hiding an obvious erection in his cut up old denim jeans.

Had I really done that?

 -*-

I went though with my plan anyways - wearing a two piece bikini that I
would have been horrified to wear in public.  I had bought it for a
trip years before with my ex-husband.  And I had been then, at least
twenty pounds lighter.  All my imperfections were highlighted in the
suit - but it also showed most of my bare flesh.

I wanted to see how it would affect my son and if it could, again,
catch his eye.  The Manifesto had spoken of teenage boy's and their
inherent interest in anything female.

    [... 'Woman' is a mystery to a early teenage boy.  Which may seem
    odd to you, as you have been living with him since he was born...]

Beneath the mid-day sun, I lay face down upon the blanket.  Barry had
left two hours before, though I had been able to give him a peek of me
in my suit, he just glanced at my exposed flesh then ran out of our
home without a backward look.

This experiment was a failure, I told myself - trying to feel glad but
knew I was also a little disappointed.  The essay had been right, just
having a teenage boy, even your son, stare with open lust at you is
good for one's soul let along your ego.

    [... A woman knows when a man is interested - but often a mother
    will not notice her own child's fascination with her.  You have
    the ways to see if your son is interested, if he notices you...]

Thinking the Manifesto was ludicrous, the failure of my sunbathing
exposure proof, and I told myself that I should give Jude the binder
back.  Her illicit and immoral, let alone illegal, affair with her son
something that will obviously split our friendship apart as I can not
but state my disgust with her life-choices.  That and the fact that
she had thought to include me into that fraternity of incestuous
coupling is nothing less than atrocious.

Then I heard the door to our apartment open and close quickly - Barry
was home.

My heart seemed to stop - my son rarely came home early on a Saturday,
often returning nearly at bedtime instead.

I called out, my mouth suddenly feeling dry, "Barry?"

A bellow, "Ya mom, its me."

It seemed like all my doubting, judgemental ideals about what the
Manifesto was recommending had instantly disintegrated.  My whole body
felt like there were tiny electrical sparks going off around me.

Suddenly, the experiment that I had thought to do, and then thought
was a failure, was very much alive.

I heard Barry moving about in the kitchen, and with but a quick peek
through the living room doorway and through the clear sliding patio
doors, I knew my son could see his mother laying nearly-naked on our
patio.

My eyes wanted to look over my shoulder to see if I could catch my son
looking and it took much effort on my part not to move.

I heard him walk slowly past the window, pause, then continue down the
hallway to our bedrooms and bathroom.  The interior of the patio could
not be seen except through the wide double sliding doors in the living
room or through my single window in my bedroom.

I wanted to know if Barry was watching me from my bedroom window - it
offering the best concealment to an intrigued teenager.  Turning my
head, which lay upon the top of my hands, I was able to squint through
my nearly closed eye lids.  I hoped, if seen, I would look as if
asleep or at least with my eyes shut closed.

At first, nothing, the bright summer light bouncing off my bedroom
window hid everything behind.

Then a small movement - a shadow, darker, shaped like a head and
shoulders.

A shudder ran down my spin and I had no time to analyze it.

Feeling suddenly cheap, I rolled over onto my back, knowing the
generous movement of my exposed flesh to be obvious.

I had to turn my head away, my eyes clamped shut as I forced myself to
breath slowly and stay in that position.  Silently I cursed myself for
the stupidity of putting myself into this situation - how can any
woman that wanted to be a loving caring mother expose herself like
this to her teenage son?  The Manifesto was wrong - what I was doing
was wrong - I felt it to the tips of my toes.

Then why were my nipples hard and aching, that familiar tingling
between my legs...?  Think of something else!

The voice startled me, "Your getting red mom."  I sat up suddenly and
brought one hand protectively across my swaying barely-covered
breasts.  Barry was standing in the open patio doorway holding a
sweating bottle of water.

I had not put on tanning lotion, though I had placed it by me with a
spare towel when I had first lay down.

Barry was sporting an odd half smile that reminded me of his father
and I had to look away.  Not before I peripherally noticed a bulge in
my son's jeans that momentarily took my breath away.

Oh my god!

"Want me to put some lotion on your back mom?"

My mouth did not seem to work and I wanted to yell at him to go to his
room - to leave me alone.  To scream at him, call him a pervert and to
go find a girl his own age to spy on.  Instead, my head nodded
affirmatively and my torso twisted so that I was again laying
face-down on the blanket.

Barry knelt next to my hip, set down his water then reached for the
lotion.  I heard the obscene sound of it squirting into his hand,
which caused another shudder to run down my spin, before he rubbed his
hands quickly together. It sounded almost anxious I thought with
despair.

Then those cream-coated cold hands touched the back of my calves and I
could not help but yelp and jump in response.

"Sorry mom - the tanning lotion is cold."

I had to admit, that it was not only the cold lotion that had caused
me to jump.

His strong inexperienced hands moved over every curve from my knee to
the tips of my toes... between my toes.  He bent my knee and ensured
even the front of my legs were done exactingly.  Though I am sure this
was the first time he had done this for anyone, his strong patient
hands felt so damn good on my lower legs.  Being on ones feet most
days, massaging that part of me was well received.

Another pause as he retrieved two more handfuls of lotion, then Barry
reached out and began the same massage to the back of my upper legs.
The initial touch had been startling, but it was innocent right?  I
mean it was just my bare feet and calves regardless of how my son may
have thought of it.  But fondling my heavy thighs, from my knee to
where my suit ended, half ways up my buttocks was a place that no man
had touched in years - and that included even my ex husband!  I had to
force myself to stay in that prone position else I run away from this
situation that I had put myself in.

More lotion, and then his hands were coating my lower back and hips.
It felt good and I was able to relax again, thinking this a safer
place for his hands - it being at least a few centimetres further from
my groin than his hands had been when massaging the back of my thighs.

Then a gasp startled me out of my introspection, "Oh mom...!"

I turned my head, not understanding his outburst, as my son jumped up
to his feet and shuffled quickly back into our apartment.

My body renewed its tingling as I remembered the flash of that wide
dark patch that had appeared in the crotch of Barry's jeans.

 -*-

The woman that took a shower, put on stretch pants and a tank top, was
a different person.  Something just clicked inside me - the whole of
the Manifesto suddenly made sense.  It was a way for a single mom to
have a sexual relationship without going out trolling for guys - it
was a way for the son to be sexually satisfied without hurting his
education or development.  It was about two people that needed each
other in this large cruel world.  It was about love!

    [... And what about you?  Is it fair that life left you alone with
    a teenage son?  Do you think it wise to date and bring a different
    man into both of your lives?  Is this a lesson that you want your
    son to grow up with? ...]

I cooked a large home-cooked meal that Saturday evening.  Barry had
been closed up in his room, door closed as usual, for most of the
afternoon.  The fact that he was still home and not out with his
hooligan friends, was taken as a small triumph on my part.  When he
had emerged to come to the table, at my call, he looked embarrassed
and would not look at me at first.  I simply smiled sweetly and served
him a large helping of food.  Soon, he seemed to have forgotten his
embarrassment and had even started to glance at my bra-less breasts
bouncing beneath my tank top.

Suddenly, his gaze made me feel nothing less than a proud and very
happy woman.

My son liked looking at his old middle-aged mother!  My ex-husband had
called me a dried up old prune the last time we had marital sex - the
cumulation of a large fight.  Of course, he leaving me for a woman
half my age did not help either.

I knew without looking that my nipples were hard and were obvious
beneath the thin tight top.

Yes, I was enjoying this.  There was a certain liberation in knowing I
could still turn on a teenager, that even with the many imperfections
that I saw in the mirror, Barry could find pleasure in looking at me.
My reaction was something that I've not felt in a very long time.

"More dessert honey?"  I held up the spatula, ready to cut another
piece of homemade cherry pie.

"No mom - I'm stuffed!"  His eyes quickly glanced down at my covered
breasts.  "That was a great meal mom."  I could hear the honesty in
that voice - he had enjoyed our meal, perhaps even our private time
together.

I smiled happily, "If you stay home Saturdays I'll make you a nice
meal each week."

Barry just laughed lightly and I knew, with a cold clench in my gut,
that food was not enough.

    [... Even the most basic human needs are diminished next to the
    power of your son's desires...]

At every turn the Manifesto kept proving itself.  Hadn't it stated
that even food was not a lure to a young man, but only sexuality could
be counted on every time?  I had cooked regularly for my ex husband,
but he had left me for another woman - the lesson proved yet again.

Barry jumped up, took his plate to the dishwasher, and then with a
smile over his shoulder and another quick glance at my chest, he
disappeared back to his own bedroom.

I too stood up, anxious to wash the dishes and get to my own room.  I
wanted to read that Manifesto yet again.  I wanted to devour its wise
words.

 -*-

I slept in late that next Sunday morning.

When I finally awoke, my mind was filled with questions, words from
the essay, and even the images it had drawn out of me.  My body, in
its natural and uncontrollable way responded by causing my body to
tingle all over.  I understood this to be sexual energy pulsating
throughout every centimetre of my person - the feeling practically
foreign to me after so many years since I had last felt something like
it.

Yes, I was in a constant state of arousal and it felt damn good.  I
haven't felt this alive in many years.

In the adjoining wall to my room, Barry lay, probably asleep while I
lay only a few meters away considering how far to take this new found
relationship between us.

    [... Love without its physical aspect is lacking...]

The secret Manifesto made its case obvious - stating that only a fully
uninhibited exclusive sexual relationship between mother and son was
full-proof.  Yet, this middle-aged divorcee was not ready for that yet
- though, it may be notable to state that the idea no longer horrified
me.

I could not help but laugh silently to my own mental openness to the
ideas within the Manifesto - wondering if I had progressed or
regressed mentally and physically.  Morally, there was little
question.

I had worn clothing the day before that showed more flesh than I was
used too - all to catch my son Barry's eye.  And without realizing it
at the time, I had gone to the next step - to allow him to touch me,
while applying suntan lotion, in an innocent but provocative way.
Obviously I could not sunbathe with that skimpy, too tiny, bathing
suit every day to try and keep my son away from his peers.  The idea
of him enjoying me in that suit did turn me on though, and I knew I
had to take this further.

And what were my aims - what did I want out of this 'thing' between
us?  Well, I wanted my loving son back - I wanted that intimacy that
disappeared between us when he hit puberty.  I also wanted him to
reject those bad influences that I saw within his friends - the drugs,
the skateboarding lifestyle.  And I wanted him to do better at school,
though never a scholar like my friend's son John, my son could excel
if he worked at it.

Nothing too outrageous right?

Was the only option having sex with my son?

    [... Some relationships may only need small incentives for growth;
    letting your teenage son suckle at your breast is but one of many
    options...]

Not according to the Manifesto, just that it advised it as the wisest
course.

After having a lengthy bubble bath, one that I had to force my hands
to keep away from my own throbbing sex, I put on the old comfortable
bathrobe and went down the hallway to knock on my son's door.  "Barry,
you awake?"  It was nearly eleven o'clock in the morning after all.

A distant, "Yea mom?"

"Can I take you out to lunch today?"

A pause that caused me to bite my bottom lip anxiously in fear of
rejection, "If we can be back by two, sure mom?"

I reluctantly agreed - knowing he wanted to go off with another of his
hooligan friends.

Returning to my bedroom, I had to dig deep into my drawer for
undergarments that I have not worn in nearly a decade.  White thigh
high stockings and lace garter, a French cut white lace panty and
white lace brassiere.  The panty and brassiere a little tighter than I
remembered but still wearable.  Outside my lingerie, clothing more
recent but definitely one of my better outfits.  White satin blouse,
just translucent enough to see the white lace beneath, navy blue nylon
skirt tight around the hips and ass and with the hem ending just above
the knees, and finally my black heels.  I spent nearly thirty minutes
before the mirror, doing my hair and my conservative makeup.

Near twelve thirty I emerged to find my son wide eyed, "Wow mom - you
look great!"  When had I last heard a man say I looked 'great' or had
looked at me in that appreciative way?

My heart and soul soared, "Thanks honey.  Would you like to drive
today?"  I held out my keys to him.

For ten months now, Barry has had his learners car licence - meaning
he could drive, but only with a licenced adult in the vehicle.  He was
always bugging me to let him drive - though I rarely did so.  It had
been one of the rare controls that I had still held over him - but the
use of it, in the past, left me feeling like a failed parent.

Barry's grin was wide as he took the keys and I followed him to the
elevator and then to the basement garage.

Of course expecting him to open the passenger side door for me was a
fools wish, I did ensure my son got an eyeful of my legs as I slipped
into the passenger seat.  Leaving the hem of my skirt about mid-thigh,
one edge of my stocking visible, Barry could not decide if he wanted
to drive our car out of the garage or stare at my voluptuous but still
sexy legs.

I ruffled his naturally curly head of hair, "Drive silly!"

He gave me a wide grin that caused the tips of my toes to wiggle in
delight, as he backed up then drove out of the basement garage.  At
each light, though, he openly appraised, my curvy exposed thighs and
lap.

"Where too mom?"

"Are you hungry Barry?"

He shrugged, looking over his shoulder to change lanes, "Not really."
I had heard him making a late breakfast for himself prior to my bubble
bath.

A private smile spread on my lips, knowing that it had not been food
that had lured my son from the privacy of his bedroom.

"Why don't we just drive then honey?"

He flashed me an agreeing smile, turning off the road we were on to
head up into the hills.  He opened the windows and sun roof so that
the wind soon made my hair a mess.  But I could not have cared less.
It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon and I was with the only person in
the world that I loved and cared about.

At least a half hour later, "Up there," I pointed to a turn off on the
secondary road we were on, "isn't that where the young people go to
park and make out?"

With a laugh, "Mom!"

I laughed too, "Your mom used to be your age honey... once upon a
time.  Do kids still go up there?"

He slowed at the turn off and asked without turning his head my way,
"They still use it.  Do you want to go park up there mom?"

My heart missed a few beats and my mouth was suddenly dry, "Sure
honey."

Barry turned onto the gravel path and followed it for at least two
kilometres before it came out to a long thin field overlooking our
town far below.  He put my old car into park and then turned off the
motor.

To hide the sudden embarrassment I had, "Looks like we have the place
to ourselves honey.  Great view don't you think?"

"Too early probably."  He did not look at me, replying to why there
was no one else here, but looked out over the town.  Without his car
license, I doubt he had much chance to bring any girl up here.

Seconds before it was about to happen I knew just what Barry was about
to do.  He had brought me here to make a pass at his old mom!  There,
his hand on the stick shift was trembling, and I knew he wanted to
reach over and place it on my exposed nylon covered thigh!

    [... Often a teenage boy will find within him, a desire to pass
    into the physical with his parent.  When this happens you must not
    deny him in a malicious way but redirect his action and use your
    power as parent to advance both your lives. ...]

In a flash, my mind regurgitated the statements from the Manifesto.
When first contact is still happening, it was important that the
parent has the initiative, else any encounter may be deemed bravado by
the son, and simply treated as another adolescent notch in his belt.
Later, of course, when the boundaries have been set, his initiative
was important as a way of maturing into a man.

I watched the hand nervously and just when I saw the fingers lift from
the rounded handle I spoke up, "Honey, I wanted to talk?"

His fingers grasped the stick shift, the knuckles quickly turning
white.  "Of course mom?"  Barry could not seem to choose if his eyes
looked into my own or down to my lap, now with both stocking tops
exposed.  He did seem a little relieved, as if my question had broken
his concentration - to do an act that he was obviously very nervous to
do.

"I found my panties that you had used...?"  I could not say it, could
not find the words to say that my son had ejaculated into my cotton
underwear.

Barry's face turned instant crimson and he snapped his head forward to
stare down to our small town.  Mumbling with his bottom lip quivering,
"I... I'm sorry mom...!"

My hand shot out and lay upon his white-knuckled fist where it grasped
the stick shift.  My son's eyes shot a quick look at our joined hands
before returning to gaze at the great view.  "No honey, you
misunderstand?"

His head slowly turned, his brow clenched in embarrassed confusion.

With a fast paced heart and with my shoulders trembling I had to force
a calm somber look to my face.  "I do not mind what you did Barry."

He spat in self-disgust, "Because its only 'natural' right mom?"

I forced a patient smile on my face, "That is right honey."  For the
last two years at school, my son has taken a course with all the other
students, about human relations.  It was supposed to be more about
psychology and group interactions, but each year it covered topics
about human sexuality.  Barry was probably simply regurgitating words
from that course.

Then my son's red face seemed to drain away, leaving a pale reflection
of itself, before he stated nervously, "I don't do it very often mom."
He seemed to need to justify, or mitigate is guilt.  He just hasn't
gotten that I wanted him to do this thing.

I smiled up into his pale face and boldly, for this old gal least
ways, quickly stated, "I want you to do it as often as you wish
honey."

His brow furled again, obviously surprised and a little confused.
"What... are you sure mom...?"  I don't think he covered this in his
sex education at school.

It was time for a little mom-exposur... no not that kind!  "Can I be
totally honest with you Barry?"  He nodded anxiously, his eyes now
containing that little glint that I was starting to interpret as lust.
"It turns me on a little bit."

My son became a statue, even the rise and fall of his chest while
breathing seemed to have frozen.  After several seconds, his mouth
moved, "What do you mean mom?"  His voice now sounded rough, hoarse.

With my last words, I had taken another step toward the direction of
that secret essay that I had hidden back at home.

"I am almost forty years old honey - and I like that I can still turn
a head."  That was a statement that I had prepared early this morning,
as I lay in bed contemplating my options.

My son, ever the blunt one, paraphrased my careful words and
confirmed, "It gets you hot mom?"  He seemed to realize what he had
just asked and I saw his still body shiver once, violently.

I nodded once before breaking out in a forced but carefree laugh,
"Thats one way to put it!"  Actually, my sex had contracted when Barry
had asked his last question - and it was proof enough that I do indeed
get turned on from his attention.

Barry did a quick scan about the car, we were still alone.  Then he
lifted his hand, my own still above his, from the gear shift and reach
over to lay it upon my lap.  It seems that my admission of sexuality
gave Barry enough guts to make a pass at his old mom!  My breathing
stopped for brief few seconds as I starred down at it.  I was
screaming at myself inside, not to let this get out of control but at
the same time not to destroy my son's ego.  So I left the hand there
on one leg, clenching without moving from my nylon covered flesh just
above one knee.

The gale of my young man - making a pass at his mom!

A few weeks before I would have been shocked, enrolled my son with a
shrink - today, my body was reacting in ways that I had forgotten.
There was something else, pride - I was so proud of my son at that
moment.

Perhaps that is why things went a little further than I intended.

It was silent in our car and both of us were staring at our hands upon
my lower thigh for some moments.  My mouth opened to break the awkward
silence - "How would you like to do it Barry?"

His head jerked up, his eyes practically blazing, "What?"

Of course I realized, too late, what I had said and tried to hide my
own shock.  "My panties honey, how shall we exchange them from now on?
I don't think you need to go through the laundry any longer."

His face returned with colour, turning red again and he shrugged
embarrassed.

I was the parent, I was taking the initiative... right?

"Why don't I leave my panty at the end of each day outside my door, on
the handle?"  I was trying to sound like this was a spontaneous idea -
but in truth, I had come up with this hours before.  "If you don't
want it - just leave it on the handle."

My son again verbally stepped forward, "What about after mom?"

It was my turn to blush, I could feel the heat filling the skin of my
face, but only had a shrug for an answer.  I had planned to say he
could just put them in the laundry when he was finished - but for some
reason I didn't.

"After... I could leave it on my door knob?"  He took a quick swallow
before continuing, "Then you will know what I did?"

I didn't say that the disappeared garment from my door was evidence
enough because I understood that my son was probably hearing in his
mind that his old mom gets hot at the attention, that he wanted to
give me something in return.  The 'gift' that Jude had mentioned.  A
full body tremor rolled through me, my vulva quivering for some while
afterwards.

"That sounds fine honey."  I forced a smile upon my lips, though my
mind was raging, my body was humming and my heart was thumping wildly
with love.

Suddenly, realizing we were alone, his hand on my knee, forced me to
realize the situation that I was in.  This car ride was at risk of
developing into much more than I planned.  And this may surprise you,
but if it did, I would be the one at fault.

I don't remember being so turned on in my whole life!

His still hand suddenly came to life, fondling my flesh above my knee
- causing small electrical currents to quiver up to my sex.  Obviously
Barry had realized the shared situation we were in at the same time I
had.  I needed to say something, anything to stop this - else it would
quickly disintegrate into something I was not prepared for!

"Would you like it right now Barry?"  My voice sounded as raw as my
son's had earlier.

A lopsided grin appeared on his face, my son's eyes glinting, "What
did you have in mind mom?"  Was that the voice he used on those little
tramps that hung out with his skate boarding pals?  It gave me the
incentive to control myself a little - this form of bravado
unattractive and even reminded me of my ex-husband.

Lifting his paw from my lap, I set it back down on the stick shift
before asking, "I could give you a fresh panty right now honey?"

Barry swallowed loudly and quickly nodded his agreement.  I tried to
see if there was disappointment within, if he had been expecting his
'hot' mom to put out more - but I saw nothing within his hungry gaze.

Unbuckling the seat belt, I slipped the hem of my skirt up my thighs
until the tops of the stockings were fully exposed, then I began to
undo the two garter clasps on each stocking.

I dare not look up at my son, but knew without a doubt that he was
starring wide-eyed at my deliberate movements.  I must admit that I am
a little shameless and enjoyed the show I was putting on for Barry.
Never had I been watched while removing a garter belt.

My hands and arms were beginning to quiver uncontrollably as I worked,
making my movements more awkward and drawn out.  When the tops of the
stockings were undone, I slipped my hands up the sides of my skirt,
hooked my thumbs into the top elastic of my panty, lifted my hips and
ass while at the same time slipping the panty smoothly down my shapely
legs.

It was deftly done, the skirt strategically hiding my loins from my
son's hungry gaze, while being able to get my panty down past my
knees.

I stepped out of my heels, pointed my toes down, and slipped each foot
out of my garment.  This was done perfectly and slowly - knowing that
the audience watching was appreciating every second.

Holding it with a thumb and forefinger, I held it up in the air
between my son and I.

At last I looked up at him, his eyes almost tear-filled as he starred
at the offering.  Nearly a minute passed before the hand that had
fondled my thigh lifted, palm up, to accept my gift.  His whole body
was trembling, and I hid my pride-filled smile.

I reattached my stockings as my son tentatively touched the white lace
panty in his hand.

As I had been slipping the panty down past my hips to my upper thighs,
I had felt the abundant moisture escaping from me, coating my upper
inner thighs with its slippery warm contact.  That same moisture had
saturated the lace crotch of my panty, the white stained dark with my
private juices.  My son had seen the obvious as well as I had and now
held it before him, inhaling deeply the earthy sweet scent that was of
me.

The garment, now in his palm, was spread out so that his thumb was
rubbing round and round the crotch of my panty.  Was it as warm as my
thighs now felt?

Past his hand, to his lap, I saw the jerking bulge within my son's
pants and I looked away, proud and very turned on - my sex contracting
uncontrollably, insistently.

"Shall we return home honey?"

Barry was speechless, but nodded anxiously.  I suppressed a giggle,
knowing he probably wanted to get into the privacy of his bedroom as
quickly as possible.

The drive back home seemed longer, but I didn't care, though my son
drove quickly he kept at least one hand always fondling my white panty
that was spread out on his lap.

I watched him lovingly, knowing that we had turned a corner in our
relationship and I felt much happier than I have for a very long time.

 -*-

Reading my current novel, which I usually had, at least before the
Manifesto entered my life, at least one going at any given time.  I
had yet to read a whole page in the hour that we had been home.  My
mind, you see, was meters away, thinking about what my son was doing
behind the closed door of his bedroom.

Every so often my body trembled with pleasure, and I needed to
constantly squeeze my thighs to quench the tingling in my loins.

My son Barry was using my damp warm panty to masturbate too and I can
not explain how exciting that made me feel.  Strangely enough, I felt
like the most successful mother in the world.  You may think me
certifiable, but my body, heart and mind were all energized by what
was happening between the two of us.

Still wearing the same clothing, sans the panties, that I had left the
apartment with hours before - I had made but a couple of minute
adjustments.  I had undone two top buttons of my blouse, giving ample
view to my cleavage and pulled the blouse out of the waist of my
skirt.

Without any panties on, I felt do deliciously naughty!

Still staring at the same page in the novel I finally heard my son's
door open as if it was a clap of thunder.  I ensured my back was
straight and pulled my skirt up enough to see the top edge of one of
my stockings.

Jill, you are just a little tramp!

As his heavy steps approached, I took a deep breath and tried to calm
my rapidly beating heart.

"Mom?"

"In here honey?"  My voice sounded like I had used sandpaper on my
vocal cords.

I looked over my shoulder just as Barry stepped into the room, a half
smirk on his face.  His eyes boldly starred back at my own, and had a
new quality to them - triumph perhaps?

Barry strode up to stand directly behind me, behind the comfortable
couch.  I could not see him in this position, so starred at the closed
book on my lap - strategically placed so as not to hide what I had
carefully revealed beneath the hem of my skirt.

He silently stood there and I imagined that I could physically feel
the touch of his gaze, upon the tops of my breasts, where they were
exposed above the lace brassiere, and at my curvy attractive thighs.

My son bent over slowly and I felt him press his face into the small
of my neck, he kissed it tenderly and I could not help but sigh with
pleasure and arch my head away, exposing more for him.  Instead of
more kisses, my son whispered directly into my ear, "I did it
mom... three times!  I left it on my bedroom door knob as agreed."

My head was swimming and it took me a second to realize what he meant
and when I did, I felt seconds away from an orgasm!

Barry stood back up, "I hope it makes you as hot as it does to me
mom?"

What could a girl say to that, "Thank you honey."  I would do
anything, and I mean anything, for my son at that moment.

But then the magic disintegrated as he strode away, speaking, "I'm
late mom... don't expect me for supper."

My head snapped sideways to see my son holding his over-sized
sticker-covered skateboard as he headed for the door.

"Wait... Barry?"

I sat up suddenly, my forgotten book slipping to the floor about my
heels with an exaggerated crash.  He turned sideways, his face showing
impatience.

What could I say - where had I gone wrong?  The Manifesto, I had lost
control of the situation - had lost sight of what was at stake.

"What is going on... between you and I Barry... that is our secret
right?"

His face broke into another half-smile, "Oh yea.  Don't worry mom."

He looked ready to again retreat, so I hastily added, "Because as long
as its just between you and I, we can continue to have fun."

My son nodded, as though understanding, then turned and was soon out
of the apartment and with the bad influences that I had tried to
unsuccessfully keep him away from.

 -*-

I kicked off my heels, my feet hurt anyways, retrieved them from the
floor along with my book, and strode with a defeated step down the
hall to my room.

There on the doorknob to his bedroom was the most expensive and sexy
panty that I owned.  Even as I approached, I could see the
pearl-coloured dampness saturating most of its white lace surface.
The crotch of it was pooled with my son's sperm and as I lifted my
undergarment from its perch, it sloshed about.

I've never seen so much sperm in my entire life.

Should I feel pride now?  Well, I did not.

Opening the door to my room, I dropped my heels and book on the floor
and then went into my private bathroom and dropped the soiled garment
into the laundry hamper.

Just minutes before, I am sure the proof of my son's desires for his
old mother would have given me that much needed orgasm.  Now, it only
seemed to remind me of my failure.

Standing over the hamper for at least three minutes, I starred dumbly
down at my slimy garment.  My mind was strangely blank and my body
still.

I forced my eyes away and returned to my bedroom to remove every bit
of clothing from my body while purposefully ignoring the mirror and
the image it reflected.

I knew where I had gone wrong - when making the agreement for sharing
my panties with my son, I should have asked for some quid-pro-quo from
him.  And I mean something like a promise to spend every Saturday with
me - or no staying out past nine on a school night.  But like a stupid
twit, I had been so excited that I had forgotten the purpose of the
drive, and not just of handing him my excitement-filled panty.

Running a scolding hot bath, I stood starring down at the water
filling the tub.

Three times Barry said.

Wow!

My head turned toward the laundry hamper and the panty lain on the top
of the dirty clothing pile.

No man alive had proved his lust for me in such a way - not the boys I
fumbled with as a teenager, not even my ex-husband.  It was indeed a
'gift' I laughed silently to myself, without a trace of humour.

I found myself again standing over the hamper, my hand reaching down
and my first two finger tips touching the still warm thick ejaculate.

That lovely sperm came from my son Barry but moments ago - all because
he had received the warm panty from his mom.

My fingers rose up before my face, the thick liquid slipping slowly
down my thin short fingers.  I could smell it and my head spun and
before I could talk myself out of it, I slipped my two fingers deep
into my mouth and closed my eyes.

 -*-

Barry waited up each of the next three nights - for when I got home
from work, took my shower and then hung my dirty panty on my door
knob.  Each night it disappeared, showing up the next morning on his
door knob but with various amounts of drying sperm upon it.

On the third afternoon, I actually went shopping to purchase more sexy
underwear.  Most of what I had was old granny garments that were never
supposed to be viewed by anyone.

On the fourth morning I stepped out into the hallway, looking back to
his door to see the soiled panty where my son had left it, and made my
way to the kitchen.  I wore only my robe, loosely fitted at the top.

My son's eyes rose as I entered the kitchen, my arms rising to make
tea like a robot.  I felt worn out today... again.  I had stayed up
late reading the Manifesto - digesting every word yet again.  Within
its wise statements, I was looking for ways to further my relationship
with my son, ways that did not necessarily lead to full intercourse.
That was still one taboo that I felt should not be tempted.

    [... When presented with a buffet of food for the starving person,
    how can you keep him from gorging himself? ...]

Hands suddenly took the kettle from me and I looked up into my son's
smiling face, "Go sit down mom - I'll do that for you."

A sweet smile spread on my lips, then I stumbled to the table and
watched my son prepare the water for boiling, then my mug of tea.  In
moments he had set a steaming mug of tea before me and then stood
behind my chair and placed his palms on my shoulders.

The first scalding sip trickled down into my body, the much needed
caffeine already energizing me.

The hands were gently massaging my shoulders and the moan of pleasure
escaped my lips.  Of course I knew he was starring down at my exposed
chest - nearly to the nipples - but I could care not.  Barry had
become intimate with my most private of soiled undergarments - what
was a little cleavage against that?

Lips then kissed the top of my head and Barry spoke softly, "Thank you
for your gift these last few nights mommy."  I had not heard him call
me 'mommy' in years and my sleepy consciousness perked up.  "I hope
you enjoyed my gifts in return?"

He paused for my response but I took another sip of tea and waited
embarrassed.  "I wanted... to tell you... that if you want to watch
me... any night... if you want I mean... I would like that too...?"

Obviously my son was very embarrassed - but I understood his request.
It was something that I had never considered and the offer surprised
me.  I placed my mug down and half turned in my seat, his hands
slipping from my shoulders, to look up into my son's beat-red face.
"Is that something you would like Barry?"

His head nodded quickly in the affirmative.

And my heart began to quicken - the realization of what we were
talking about struck me like a physical blow but only left my sex
twitching in response.

Barry quickly moved back to his chair across the table, my body and
eyes following him.

Though his request was not something planned, I could see the merits
within.  It could be done without any touching, in fact both of us
could be meters apart.  I could even be fully clothed, I thought
humorously.

"Starting next week, my shift changes at the hospital again - seven to
three."  He would not meet my eyes yet.  "How about this honey, any
day that you are home by six we can share... what you suggested?"

Barry's eyes rose, that familiar twinkle within, and a pleased smile
widened his lips.  "Serious mom?"

"Serious."  I could see that he was going for it - not even seeming to
care about the loss of his nights with his peers.  I wanted to spice
up the pot a little, "I want to change something though?"

His eyes narrowed only slightly.

"Rather than leaving my panty on my doorknob these special nights -
why don't I hand you a warm one before you..?"  I could not say it,
before he jerks off while I watched.  I had to clench my thighs
together beneath my robe, I could feel the heat building within my
loins.

My son was bubbling with joy, and it gladdened my heart, "Ya mom!  Oh,
this is gonna be so great!"  He jumped up from his seat, rushed over
beside me and gave me a sloppy quick kiss on the cheek before rushing
out of the room back to his bedroom.  He probably had to go to school
soon.

I was left with a stupid smile on my face as I drank my tea,
contemplating with my own growing excitement what we had agreed too.
Then Barry returned, one hand had his school bag the other his
ever-present skateboard.  "Mom?"  He looked much more somber than when
he left a bare moment before.

"Yes honey?"

"When you watch me jack off", there, he said what I had not the
strength to voice, "if you... if you get hot and... well, if you want
to jack off too, that... that would be fine with me?"

My mouth was suddenly dry, already my plan was pushing its boundaries
but I understood his request.  My son did desire his ageing mother,
that much was obvious, but he continually wanted more than peaks of
stocking tops or cleavage.  The Manifest had stated this eventuality,
why 'going all the way' was the only true path.

    [... To have your son inside you is the only true path to love...]

I forced a light-hearted laugh before answering, "I am not sure if I'm
ready for that yet honey."  I saw his immediate disappointment, "But
we shall see... OK?"  He perked right up and then nodded his approval
before running out of the house to school.

 -*-

When I woke Saturday morning, I saw the rain pouring down outside and
knew my plan of sun bathing with my too small two-piece suit was not
going to happen.  I was already missing that wide-eyed lust-filled
gaze of my son staring at my body.  Oh sure, he openly looked at my
cleavage each morning when I appeared in my robe and some of the
nights I came home, he would watch my nylon covered thighs as I
removed my shoes from my weary feet.  And it was now done more openly
than before - my son Barry obviously feeling that his gaze allowed in
light of how far our new intimacy had already progressed.

I had boldly made a compromise about school nights - about his being
home for supper.  I wanted more though, I wanted his full cooperation
away from those bad influences that I could not help but dwell upon
when the sexy thoughts and images from the Manifest were not with me.

After a quick breakfast, I slipped on black tights and a loose tank
top sans bra. Saturday was normally my cleaning day, so I went at it
with my gusto to get it completed as quickly as possible.

Barry had not come out of his bedroom as yet though he could not be
sleeping with the vacuum running full tilt.

After I was finished with the house chores, and the third load of
clothing in the wash.  I went back to my room, a little disappointed
not to have seen my son... seen his eyes looking at the way my
generous breasts swung inside my loose tank top.  I stripped down and
then slipped into a cool shower and began to soak up.

A voice just on the other side of the semi-transparent curtain made me
shriek, "Mom?"

"God Barry - you surprised me."  Without realizing it, I turned so
that my back was too the curtain.

"Could I wash your back?"  He sounded like my little boy rather than a
sex-starved teenager as he had asked that.  And what gall, the boy
constantly liked to push the boundaries obviously.

The silence was thick and I knew I had to answer, but realized this
was another opportunity to alter our lives.  "I would like that honey.
But only if you agree to stay home with me today OK?"

It was his turn to be silent, probably weighing the few seconds of
washing his mom and seeing her beneath the shower to spending hours
hanging out with this friends.  Rather than answer, he asked another
question, "Why do you want me home mom?"

I could easily answer this one, "I miss you honey.  With our busy
lives we barely get to see each other.  I just want one day that is
ours - just for you and me."

Could he see the shape of my body through that curtain?

Then, "OK mom, I will stay home with you today."

Joy and celebration!  I had to keep my voice somber, "Thank you
Barry."

The curtain shot wide open which startled me so that I jumped.  I
covered my breasts with both hands, standing straight facing the wall
so that my torso almost touched the cool tiled wall.  Looking over my
shoulder I saw the wide-eyed glint-filled gaze of my son as he was
obviously looking at his mother's bare ass.

"Use the soap from that tray honey?"  He shook his head as if to clear
it, looked for the tray, then quickly retrieved the soap.  I was
pleased to see my sons hand trembling violently as it rose toward my
wet back.

I had determined that my son had a bold streak within him, but I was
pleased to realize that he was also inexperienced.  The Manifesto had
said my job would be easier if he was still a virgin.

    [... He is like putty in your hands, this is your opportunity to
    mold your son into a man. ...]

The hand and soap slipped back and forth, dozens of times, from my
shoulders down to the small of my back.  I had turned back to the
wall, my chin down to my chest, as I feared my embarrassment, my fear
at discovering any form of disgust in my son's eyes from looking at my
obviously ageing wet body, would be revealed within him.

Then the soap was strangely gone for a few seconds before two open
palms laid upon the skin of my back.  What came next was pure nirvana
- as the two strong palms massaged the soap into my body, my muscles
turning to jelly.  A lingering fear that those hands may slip low, or
around my body, to places that I was not comfortable with filled me -
but they did not stray from that area from shoulder to hip.

When they were reluctantly removed I gasped, "God that felt fantastic
honey."

My son cleared his throat before, "I... I liked doing that very much
mom."

A laugh of joy escaped my lips and I looked over my shoulder, "Perhaps
we should do this every Saturday?"  I had not intended to be so bold.

He was non-committal though, "Perhaps."

"I'll be watching some television mom."  He closed the curtain and
then I could sense that he was gone and I was again alone.  Strangely
it felt as if a part of me was missing.

I turned to rest my shoulders against the tile of the wall and let out
a violent sigh - my god I hopped what I was doing was right.  Then,
without forethought, my hand slipped between my thighs to find a hot
wetness that did not come from the shower head.

 -*-

Barry and I had a great day together.  We walked to the neighbourhood
video store and got three movies; an action movie, a 'chick flick' as
my son calls it and a comedy.  Then we sat for the rest of the day
watching movies and eating pizza and chips.

Only when the day ended did it get a little awkward.

I saw that my son could not stop from yawning and I suggested he go to
bed.

He gave me a mischievous half smile, with that glint that I've come to
enjoy, and said, "Just waiting for your gift mom."

I forgot myself and broke out laughing, "Do you do it every night
before bed?"

My son became serious and then nodded, probably embarrassed at this
revelation.

The laughter quickly died away and I carefully stood up and retreated
to my room.  I removed my tights and panty, put the tights back on
before exiting my room, leaving the still-warm panty on the door.

I sat back down before the television.

It was my son's turn to stand without a word, hand me the remote
control that he had hogged most of the day, and disappear deeper into
our apartment.

I watched him go and felt a shiver down my spin.  Just think, every
night!

 -*-

When Barry got home Monday at six, on the dot, I had supper all ready
on the table.  I gave him a thank-filled smile and sat across to eat.
Truthfully, I was relieved that he had shown up on time - as I had
watched the clock for the last hour, fearful that our latest agreement
had already been broken.

The Manifesto had written that if an agreement has been broken, then
both sides of it must fail.  Meaning, I would not be able to watch my
son masturbate with my panty today!  And I can not begin to explain
how much I wanted that to happen - the desire for it building since
our agreement.

    [... Be strong!  Your desires will build within you to the point
    of uncaring, but you must keep the initiative and guide your love
    in a positive way...]

It was obvious that neither Barry or I gave much thought about food
through our quiet meal.

I had gotten home from work and removed all my clothing, but my newly
purchased bikini-style panty.  Throwing a loose summer low-cut
high-hem flower-print dress on before starting supper - I primped
before the mirror until I had to start supper.

It felt like the night before Christmas to me.

With the meal over, Barry stood to help me gather the dirty plates,
load the dishwasher and then clean the supper pots.  A rare event I
assure you.  Throughout, his eyes strayed to my bare legs or to the
movement of my bare breasts within my dress.

As exciting as it was to be viewed this way - and it was something
that I've started to really find pleasure in - I knew I was to be the
one that would soon have some viewing pleasure.

When the kitchen was clean Barry stood in the middle of the room and
asked nervously, "Mom do we have to wait until the end of the day to
do this?"  He was shifting his weight from one foot to the other
nervously, anxiously.

I stopped folding the dish towel and looked at him, "Don't want to
wait?"  I tried to be comical in my words, but my dry mouth had not
allowed it.

He nodded negatively then looked down at his own lap, my eyes
following so that I saw the obvious bulge in his denim, "I don't think
I can mom."

Nodding as if I understood the intricacies of teenage hormones, "I'm
ready if you are?"  Truthfully, I was as anxious to start my son was
but was marginally better at hiding it.

Barry tried a smile, but it quickly faded away.  He turned and started
to slowly head toward his room - looking over his shoulder to ensure
that I was following.

I was.

"I'm a little nervous mom."  He did not see my own child-like
fear-filled smile in return.

We silently entered his cluttered room - a bedroom that looked as if a
tornado had struck.  This had always been his domain, his private
place and I've always respected that.  My son was inviting me within
this space to be a voyeur to his pleasure - to show me what he did
with my soiled panties no less.

He was shivering violently as he pointed to his desk chair, "Would you
like to sit mom?"

I nodded negatively and stood by the doorway, my arms folded over my
chest.  Truth was, my knees were starting to quiver and I feared I may
embarrass myself by slipping to the messy floor but also thought if I
sat down I may not be able to rise again.

Then Barry turned his back to me and began to strip.

It was not a well practised seduction nor was it done with me in mind.
My son simply stripped with slow precious movements - slow due to his
trembling limbs and with random shudders rocking through his torso.
Soon his long trim back was revealed then his long thin colt-like legs
and then finally, as his boxers slid to the floor about his large
feet, and his trim tight hard ass.  Unlike his father, Barry was
nearly devoid of hair.  To me, my son was the best looking male
specimen that I've ever seen.

It was my turn to shudder, once and very violently.

When had my son grown up into such a beautiful male specimen?  Why had
I failed to appreciate how exquisite he truly was while enjoying his
looks at me?

When Barry turned, my eyes could not look any place else but that
which stood erect before him.  I was not sure what to expect, though I
had told myself not to expect much for his age, Barry had a good sized
penis thrusting from his trim frame.  I could feel my reaction through
my whole body, especially between my legs, my aching nipples and my
watering mouth.  A sparse forest of curly hair lay about the base of
that hard thrusting member, which seemed to make it look perfect.  A
generous sack hung beneath, a shading of hair covering it.

God, my son had a beautiful penis!

My knees were quivering so badly I wished I had taken the offer of the
chair - my back was propped up against the door else I would have
fallen to the floor humiliated.

The silence was thick but long lasting.  I studied that which I had
not seen in nearly a decade, and it did not resemble anything like I
remembered it.  My little boy was no more - a young hard-bodied man
stood before me.

It seemed to pulsate as I studied it from a meter and a half away and
my mouth watered hungrily.  I do not remember ever feeling this way
when seeing a boy's penis - having grown up on a farm, I had seen the
animals copulating and there was no mystery to me - but this was very
different.  I felt... reborn, a different person and I loved it!

My son mumbled nervously, "I'm not sure I can do this mom?"

Without rising my eyes from that circumcised perfect cock, I whispered
selfishly back, "I know you can do it honey!"  Peripherally I saw my
son's half smile appear and I knew my words had given him the passion
to do this - he must hear my own desire through my words, see how I
trembled as frequently as he did.

Without a word on his part, I realized that he must be waiting for me.
My own hands trembled as I slipped them beneath the hem of my skirt,
up my thighs to my rounded soft hips.  A clear thick drop appeared at
the crown of that cock and hung there like a tear as I slipped my
warm, slightly moistened, white cotton bikini panties down to my bare
feet.  Cool air licked up past my thighs and I bit my bottom lip else
I may moan with the pleasure of it.

My eyes still did not waver as I handed my panty across to my son -
which he accepted anxiously.  When his hand had reached for it, I had
so wanted him to grasp me and pull me to him.

Barry studied the new style panty for some seconds with obvious
delight, perhaps trying to picture it covering his mother's loins.
Then he opened the crotch of the garment and saw that I had again left
some residual juices - proof of how 'hot' I was.  His smile widened.
As he looked at me boldly, my eyes having been drawn up to see what he
did with my garment, he brought the damp crotch up to his nose and
inhaled loudly, the panty pressed firmly against his lower face.

A moan escaped his lips and I saw movement down below, my eyes
streaking down to see his hand already encircling his hard cock,
stroking himself slowly.

God what a beautiful sight!

Barry continued to inhale my sweet smelling scent, moaning in
response, as his hips began to thrust his hard penis into his fist.

I've never seen a man masturbate before - oh, sure I know the
technique, but that is nothing like the real thing.  There is
something bold and beautiful about the procedure - something raw and
animal-like that attracted me.

The panty was lowered from before his face, as Barry carefully wrapped
it about his hard cock.  I saw that he ensured that the damp section
of the garment was placed directly beneath the length of his penis,
the head exposed but with some panty beneath to catch what may come
from his body.

My son stepped back and then sat on the edge of the bed with his knees
wide, looked up at me with his half grin and twinkling eyes, then
began to put some serious consideration into stroking his cock.

This time, as my son masturbated before me, his eyes stayed open and
he boldly stared at me.

Oh my god!

I felt like his muse and I loved it!

He was starring at my large breasts, which I knew were topped with
aching hard nipples.  His gaze would slip down slowly, looking at the
curves at my waist, then admire my legs and feet before slipping back
up.  It was when his eyes starred hungrily at my lips, my partially
opened mouth, that I almost lost it.

Dear god, why have you not let me feel this way until this moment?
After thirty nine years and a handful of male lovers, I had felt
nothing this fantastic until my own son Barry.

Low groans were escaping him, his eyes looking almost out of focus as
he stared up and down my body.

I was trembling violently now, a wave slipping up and down my body,
leaving a trail of desire it its wake.  I've never been so fucking
excited in my life!  I can feel my hot desire slipping from my cunt to
make the inside my thighs to my knees slimy.  My hands trembled,
desired to grasp and kneed some part of myself.  Should I resist?

Barry's eyes were on my breasts again and that gave me enough
strength, knowing he shall see all, and brought both my hands up and
grasped my own breasts.  The nipples had never been so hard, they
hurt, as they thrust into each palm.

Barry's eyes widened at my movement, his smile reappearing.  I heard a
sharp hiss through his clenched teeth, "Thats so hot mom!"

That gave me enough of an incentive to use one hand to remove two of
the buttons about my bosom before slipping the other hand beneath, to
grope my own bare chest.  Barry could not see a thing of course, but
the obvious movement of my hand above one of my bountiful breasts with
my dress covering all.

His hips were thrusting anxiously now, his single bed bouncing with
his movements - not long now.

The hand was moving at a terribly fast pace, his moans and
accompanying groans of pleasure loud in the little room.  My own,
muffled sounds, getting louder.

I knew that the climax to this play was fast approaching, and I wanted
it like nothing I've ever desired before.

I realized that my free hand had slipped down to my lap, had lifted
the hem of my loose summer skirt, and was running my short nails up
and down my smooth thigh-flesh as my hips thrust in time to my son's
movements.

We were in an erotic rhythm and it was so fucking sexy!

Barry suddenly groaned loudly and raw, as if an animal had taken
possession of him.  I watched the circumcised head of his penis and
gasped when that first short of sperm shot out the tip, shooting over
a meter to splat onto his carpet.  Then it continued to jerk, shooting
again and again, pumping pearl-coloured ejaculate into my white panty.

A pain caused me to almost double up, like a cramp - but lower.  It
was a physical need and I knew that I could not ignore it any longer.

With what must look like a comical half-hunched over stride, I bound
out of my son's room and into my own.  I slammed the door behind me,
jumped onto the middle of my bed, face down, my hand slipping from my
thigh to that very wet hot place.  I grunted as I thrust again and
again into my palm - two of my fingers invading my sex, the heel of my
hand shoving roughly into my clitoris.  My free hand was clawing at my
pillow, my teeth tearing at it as I grunted like a fucking animal.

My own much needed orgasm exploded outward from my sex, my son's
perfect cock in my mind.  And though I tried to stay conscious, my
mind edged into oblivion.

 -*-

Barry kissed me the next morning on the cheek, a lingering damp kiss
that gave me a warm feeling in the pit of my stomach.  He loved his
old mother - even though she asked him to do things that are
unacceptable in our society.

Yes, I found that 'gift' on his bedroom doorknob, yet again.  I had
deposited it into the clothing hamper in my bathroom, but not before
inhaling the sharp tang of half-dried sperm crusting the inside.  This
was evidence that that wonderful memory was not a dream but indeed
real!

Before that wonderful loving kiss ended, I felt a hand upon my
generous bottom.  Wearing only my terry-cloth bathrobe, there was not
much resistance for the hand and I was too shocked at the touch to
voice my discontent before it was gone, my son preparing his own
breakfast.

I sat and just watched him, feel a warm glow through my body and soul.
My mind still half mush from my explosive orgasm the night before.  I
sipped my tea and just looked on my son's strong youthful face.  I
loved him so!

He just ignored my gaze and alternated from looking at his cereal bowl
to the slight movement of my breasts beneath my robe.

"Gotta run mom."  He rushed his empty bowl to the sink and then rushed
back to my side, where he stooped and gave me another quick kiss on
the cheek.

Before he could escape, I asked, "Barry, what time will you be home
tonight?"

His smile broadened and his eyes glinted as he stared right into my
own as if to say 'crazy mom', "Six o'clock on the dot mom!"

Then he was gone.

 -*-

After work, that same day, I met Jude at our old haunt - the coffee
shop down the block about half ways between both our places.  She was
already there when I arrived straight from work, still wearing my
white nurses outfit, and a broad smile appeared on her face.

As soon as I sat down, she leaned over and asked anxiously, "You did
it didn't you Jill?"

Of course I knew what she meant and almost pretended that I was
disgusted at the suggestion but instead I nodded negatively, a
uncontrolled pleased smile spreading on my lips, "Of course not."

Her smile did not diminish though, "I think something is going on
between you two, your practically glowing?"  I took this as a
compliment.

This time I just shrugged and to escape the awkward questions, rose to
order my Chai Latte.

By the time I again sat, Jude was less anxious about discovering what
Barry and I had done or not done.  "Well, are you going to tell me
about it or not?"

I shrugged and tested the extra-hot tea, "You never told me about you
and John?"  Of course I was being obstinate, there was a great urge in
me to blurt out how happy I was, how sexy I felt and how much my son
loved me.  If I could tell anyone in the world, it was Jude.

Jude turned a rare shade of red, rarely have I ever had the power to
embarrass her and it pleased me.  "That was before I gave you the
book."  She looked around conspiratorially.

It was true of course - would I tell anyone else in my life about the
things Barry and I had already done.  Never!  But if I was to disclose
anything it would be with someone that had gone through some of the
same things that I was.  And though there was dozens of names in the
back of the Manifesto, Jude was the only one that I knew.

So, I made a conscious decision and leaned forward to whisper, "It is
to magnificent Jude!"

Her wide smile returned, "Didn't I tell you?"

"No one has even looked at me like Barry does - I get so excited."

She nodded, anxiously, understanding perfectly.  "How far have you
gone Jill?"  My best friend's eyes glinted, almost the same way that
Barry's did when excited.

I looked around the fairly busy shop and hissed, "Not here."

Jude nodded understanding, and quickly scooped up her cup and handbag
and we strolled down to the the sea wall.  Our arms were locked
together so we could walk close and in step.  Still I leaned in to
reveal, "I had Barry agree that if he is home by six on a school
night, I will watch him masturbate... with my panties."

Jude let out a short laugh and then asked, "What is it you want to
know about John and I?"  She understood the problems I've had with my
son these last years, since she was my confidant, and now that we were
truly conspirators, I was being allowed all the knowledge that was
previously held back.

This was my chance and I was suddenly devoid of questions about my
best friend and her young lover, her son.  So I asked the obvious,
"What is it like Jude?"

My ambiguous question was, nevertheless, understood, "Its glorious
Jill!"  Jude smiling with a far away gaze before continuing, "I've
never felt so... sexy, loved and even satisfied."  A another short
laugh.  "He can't get enough... and neither can I!"

Jude looked at me, as if gauging if I was ready, before divulging, "We
have an agreement, whenever John gets an 'A' at school we have anal
sex."

I was shocked and my face showed it, John had always been very good in
school and I imagine he got a lot of 'A's.

Jude just laughed pleasantly and nodded in the affirmative at my
suspicions.

I've never considered anal sex before and the thought startled me.
Her comments had also given me another idea about my son Barry.

 -*-

Barry finished his meal as if his seat was on fire - then watched me
finish my own with barely contained patience.  Of course I knew why he
was in a hurry - but before we could do that, I wanted to make him an
offer first.  I had gotten the idea the day before with Jude.

Before I set the fork back onto my plate, Barry had picked up both our
empty dirty plates and rushed to the counter.  I watched him load the
dishwasher, then frantically wash the pots before coming back to the
table to spot wash it.  I could not help but tease him, "I'll get used
to this if you don't be careful honey?"

He just smiled quickly, forced, his mind probably on one thing.

As soon as my son was complete with the supper cleaning, he stood by
my chair staring at me anxiously.  I had to halt this pace for a
moment, "I need to talk to you honey?"

He frowned then looked scared - did he think I was about to withdraw
our earlier agreement.  Barry took a deep breath then return to his
place opposite me at the table.

"Honey I wanted to talk about your marks?"

Barry blinked three times before looking a little disgusted, "What
about my marks mom?"

"They have been getting worse these last three semesters."

He shrugged, "I've never been good at school mom - you know that?"

It was true of course, my son had always been a 'C' student.  I nodded
in agreement but I wanted more from him, "I realize that honey - but I
think you can do better."

My son sat back in his chair, crossed his arms and rolled his eyes
before starring up at the ceiling.

"In fact, I want to give you a little incentive for when you get a 'B'
honey."  His eyes dropped back to mine, becoming intrigued.

I took a deep breath, swallowed thickly, then forced myself to present
my offer, "Get a 'B' and I will give you a hand-job."  It came out in
a rush - the only way I could state such a thing was if I forced those
words from my lips.

Barry blinked twice, uncrossed his arms, before asking incredibly,
"Really?"  A smile was spreading on his lips.  "Every time I get a
'B'?"

I nodded, suddenly nervous and not so sure of my plan.  "Every
time... but only in the core subjects, no Gym or Industrial."  Last
night as I lay in bed considering my proposal, the idea seemed so
simple, so attractive.  The idea of touching my son filled me with
such lust last evening, but here and now, doubt crept into my plan.
And, I told myself yet again, it was not like Barry will be getting
many 'B's anytime soon.

It was obvious that my son liked the offer, he could barely contain
his excitement.  "What if I get an 'A' mom?"

"Ah...?"  I had not seriously considered an 'A' from my son - and what
I really should have said earlier, is if my son Barry received a 'B'
or higher, which would include an 'A'.

He was quick to offer, "How about if I get a blow job for each 'A'
mom?"  The excitement bubbling up from within him overwhelmed his
normal inexperience and embarrassment.

My jaw dropped at his request, my mouth moving but nothing coming out
- I was stunned at the suggestion.  Oral sex wasn't something new to
me, but it had been nearly a decade since I took my ex-husband into my
mouth and that was the last man I had ever... sucked.  My heart was
beating incredible fast and I felt the sweat bead up upon my forehead.

I was ready to nod negatively when I realized that an 'A' was almost
an impossibility with my son's track record at academics.

Barry must have seen my confusion reduce to simply concern before he
added, "And if I get a 'B+', you give me a hand-job with nothing on
from the waist up?"  He was really getting into this now, his
excitement slowly infecting me as well.

I reached across the table and took one of his hands in both of my own
before nodding in agreement, "We have a deal honey."

God help me!

His face was pure joy.

I suddenly stood and lead him upstairs to his bedroom for my show.
 
 -*-

For the next two more nights, I stood by the open bedroom door and
watched Barry, my son, jerk off into my panties.  Each night, I would
slip my hands beneath my white work skirt or my bathrobe and gave him
a fresh, still warm, panty for his use.  Once I even had to remove my
white pantyhose before retrieving the panty.

Each time I watched I became extremely excited - though not as
uncontrolled as the first time just the previous Monday.  And when I
rushed to my bedroom afterwards, I relieved the pressure between my
legs as well.

I had never masturbated so often in my life and I loved it, my body
loved it.

What pleased me most of all, was that my son was home each night this
week by six o'clock.  And I have seen evidence of studying as well -
Shakespeare's Hamlet on the top of his schoolbag for example.

The fact that he was motivated to get that 'B', or the 'A' I reminded
myself coldly, pleased me.  His lingering looks at his mother during
any day or, especially, when he masturbated had not deteriorated, and
that too pleased me.  I was a thirty-nine year-old woman with a
fifteen year-old teen hot for me.  Ladies, tell me that would not turn
you on?

The weekend had finally come and I wondered if Barry would like to
wash his mother's back again so that we could have a day together.
Yet, Saturday came and went with barely a passing glance at each other
as my son rushed to go out to his friends.

Sunday night I lay in bed, depressed and feeling guilty.  Yes I had
achieved so much already, but my son was still risking his future with
his choice of peers and would rather be with his friends than washing
his naked mother's back.  Sure, that hurt more than you realize - I
was becoming used to the attention, the lust filled gazes.  It was a
high that I rode, the Manifesto seemingly the gas to my car, and that
hard teenage cock the motor.

Barry came home near midnight, the door to our apartment slamming
behind him.  His eleven o'clock curfew broken... again.  I slipped out
of bed, wearing just a tee-shirt and one of my old cotton panties.  My
despair and loneliness quickly turning to anger with each step down
the hall.

I confronted my son, drunk and sitting awkwardly with one leg bent
beneath him, on the floor.  I could not believe my eyes - he was
filthy and that had to be semi-dried vomit on his torn tee-shirt.

At least a moment passed before he realized I was standing above him,
and my son rose his weary glazed eyes up to my own.  "Hi mom!"  He
slipped sideways, landing with his shoulder on the floor and then
giggled stupidly.

His father had liked to tie one on often enough so what I confronted
was nothing new, though it never failed to disgust me.

Barry's eyes had fallen to stare openly at my legs, the hem of my
tee-shirt ending about mid-thigh.  "You gots nice
legs... burp... mom!"  He tried to reach out to touch one, but I
easily stepped out of reach.  I waved a hand before my nose, his belch
having been noxious - the yeast smell of beer heavy in the air.

"God Barry - where have you been?"

"Partying mom."  He rolled his eyes at my obvious question but then
closed them, as if this action would cause him to be sick.

Seeing that he appeared to be stuck in his half-laying position, I
again approached him, squatting down with my arms out to help.

Barry began to giggle as only drunks can do, one hand pointing between
my bent knees, "I can see your panties mommy!  Why don't you give them
to me so I can jerk off?"  He began to laugh hysterically as if his
statement was a joke, dropping his pointing finger and letting his
head thump to the hard wood floor before our door.

I felt my cheeks turn red and hot in sudden shame, to have our
previous actions thrown in my face this way was not appealing in the
least.

Both my son's hands fumbled with his denim covered crotch and I
noticed that his zipper was already open.  Barry reached in and yanked
out his soft member.  It was his words that caught most of my
attention, as he sobbed, "Linda will go down on any of the other
guys... do you know that mom?"  He didn't wait for an answer as I just
squatted there, suddenly wanting him to continue to speak but knowing
I will hate what he had to say.  "But Gord will not let her do me", if
I can remember correctly, I think my son mentioned his friend Gord had
a girlfriend named Linda once, "until I make my bones."  I had no idea
what 'bones' was - but I could guess that I would not like it.

Barry suddenly opened his eyes, and there was misery and tears there,
as he continued while looking right through me, "I can't get a thing
with any of the girls my own age - the only one that seems to get
turned on by me is my own mother!"  The way he whined when he said the
last statement burst my heart, as it had not been a positive
reflection on our relationship these last few weeks.

Reaching out, I pulled on my son's upper arms, pulling him up to his
unsteady feet, where I wrapped my arms about his torso.  He
instinctively wrapped one arm about my waist and allowed me to lead
him toward his bedroom.

Only half ways there I felt the hand that encircled my hip slip down
to cup my ass.  Barry was mumbling to himself,
"... ass... fuck... sexy... hot...".  There was nothing I could do
about it - even though he was being rather rough in his fondling - so
I ignored it.  The odds were he would not remember a thing about this
evening come tomorrow.

The hand had snaked its way beneath my tee-shirt and then slipped
beneath my old loose cotton panty so that it was soon fondling my bare
ass.  Normally this would be rather pleasurable, after the initial
surprise ended, but at this moment I received it coldly.

I pushed his door open and lead him to his messy bed.  Turning so his
back was too it, and then let go so he fell back.  Barry reached out
instinctively and one of his hands caught the neckline of my tee-shirt
and it tore - yanking it almost down to my navel.  He did not seem to
even notice that my breasts were all but exposed.

My son lay perpendicular to his single mattress, his feet still upon
the floor and I saw, his penis still dangling pitifully out of his
open zipper.

Barry sat up on his elbows and looked at me in all seriousness, "I
want to fuck you mom!"  Though drunk, his eyes held a fiery glint.

"Its time for bed Barry."  I had thought to help him strip down to his
underwear, but after his last bold statement, the unrestricted
touches, I considered just leaving him as is.

He grabbed his limp dick and wiggled it about vigorously, "I want to
fuck your face, fuck your tits, fuck your ass and especially fuck your
cunt.  What do you say about that mom?"  Every time he said the 'f'
word, he spit.

"Lets do it right now mom... please... just once OK?"  His nasty voice
had turned into a whinny child's request.

I backed two steps away from him, almost fearful of what I was
creating.  My son was torn between that child he once was and the
confusing actions I was doing with him these last weeks.  And I would
have ran out of there if my son did not start to sob, had let go of
his limp pink penis and claw at his face.  "See?  I can't even get
lucky with you mom!  And you've probably not been laid since dad
left!"

I felt pity and shame.  Shame that my son knew that I was a lonely
woman and that I had been so transparent.  Pity for the confusing
emotions my son must be enduring.

Barry rolled into a fetal position on his side and cried as if he were
ten years younger.

It tore my heart out and I took but a few seconds to decide before
stepping forward and laying a calming hand upon his hip.  Since he had
not even seemed to notice, I sat down behind him, feeling his body
shudder with sobs every few seconds.

Then between his sobs, Barry asked, "I thought... I turned you on
mom?"

My other hand rose up and stroked his messy head of curly hair.  "Oh
honey... you don't understand!"  Tears were threatening to slip out
from my own eyes but I fought it by taking deep long breaths.

His head turned to look at me over his shoulder and I saw the misery
on his dirty, tear-streaked face, "I get so hot when I think about you
mom, when I look at you... I thought you were hot for me too... was I
wrong... am I some kind of freak?"

I saw that the Manifesto had not explained how to deal with this kind
of situation - where my son warped his lust for his mother against the
values taught by school and society.

"I can't stop thinking about us doing things mom.  I will do anything
to make you happy...?"  He turned away and sobbed again.

I leaned behind him on one elbow and starred at the side of my son's
face.

I moved instinctively, lovingly, as I gently brought my son's face
back to look at his mother.  He turned to discover one of my bare
breasts, the nipple immediately pressing into his dry lips
insistently.

With barely a pause that mouth opened and Barry engulfed my wide
nipple and sucked.  I hissed instinctively, thrusting my chest forward
so that my son had white tit-flesh covering most of his face.

Now I have never really explained my breasts - the first part of my
body that I realized had caught the boys attentions.  I bloomed early
with men, and boys, of all ages could not help but stare at my chest.
I knew when, and how much, cleavage to expose - when and where to do
it.  Every guy that I went with, and that included my ex-husband,
could not keep their hands and mouths from my breasts.  Over the
years, the perky large breasts had sunk toward my navel - the wide
aureole aiming down rather than toward the clouds.  Yet they had
always been an important part of my sexuality.

Giving my son this gift was done with love - it was supposed to
placate him as well as let him know that his mother felt the same
about him as he felt about me.  I also had come to a conclusion while
my son sobbed - that there was no turning back now.  To do so would
destroy my son and my relationship.  And that was something that I
would never willingly do.  I had started on this path, and damned or
not, I had to see it through.

My son moaned with pleasure, and sucked sloppily.

Barry had rolled over onto his back, his hips thrusting up and down
desperately.  One of his hands was gripping his half-hard penis so
hard that the smooth crown had lost colour, let alone his clenching
looked down right painful.

Without a thought, my hand reached out, even as Barry continued to
slobber on my nipple, and gently pulled his hand from his penis,
replacing it with my own.

It has been years since I had fisted a cock, so this was not something
new to me, but this cock was special and a warm thrill ran through my
body.  It was the first positive sexual reaction within me since my
son had gotten home.

Barry reacted as well, sucking so harshly that it hurt while groaning
louder and with greater frequency.  His hips were doing all the work,
continuing to pump up and down, thrusting himself back and forth
within my clasping hand.  That perfectly proportioned manhood now hard
as rock and nothing less than desire coursed through my veins.  It was
as if each of his upward thrusts was causing my sex to react to the
same rhythm.

Between sucks, Barry gulped for air and gasped out, "Oh mommy... I
love you... I love this...!"

I kissed the top of my son's messy head of hair and whispered back,
"Mommy loves you so much honey!  Trust mommy, she will make you feel
good!"

I felt like a wanton slut and loved it.

My son was grunting now and I knew the inevitable would soon approach.
That knowledge caused my body to tremble with desire.  When his lips
opened as wide as his jaw would allow and he suddenly stopped
breathing I knew... felt his cock tense, enlarge in my fist... then it
jerked and his ejaculate began to pump from his body.

I watched it run, as I had the whole last week, from the head of my
son's perfect cock - but this was different, that hand holding it was
mine, I could actually feel the sperm driving up the base of his prick
before it pumped out the end.

I've fisted, probably, a dozen different men and boys since my early
teens - most before I finished puberty - but none came even close to
how hot this was making me.  It was what a girl did if she wanted to
keep her virginity or to pleasure that boy even though she did not
want to spread her legs.

When the penis in my hand stopped spurting its seed and began to
shrink, only then did I release it.  Barry was laying back with eyes
closed, his wide open mouth trying to suck in air past the abundant
tit-flesh nearly covering him from top to bottom lip.  The top of my
hand was coated with hot splats of sperm and I brought them before my
face, staring at this latest 'gift' that my son had presented me.

This sperm fascinated me, ever since I first found that panty soiled
with his seed, but I had never had a chance to experience it so fresh
until this moment.  I could smell the strangely sweet smelling
ejaculate and my mouth again watered like the first time I saw my son
jerk off into my panty.

There was no resistance now and brought the back of my hand to my lips
and began to lick each and every drop of sperm upon it.  My eyes were
closed and I savoured every lick, inhaling it through my pursed lips
to experience it fully.  It tasted salty but strangely sweet - and I
thought it nothing less than delicious.

I've never sampled sperm that was so tasty before and the fact that it
was my sons thrilled me to no end.

When I opened my eyes I saw that my son had been watching me over the
top of my bosom and they were unreadable with the alcoholic haze he
was within.

What a whore mother you have my love!

I sat up and then helped my son remove every stitch of his clothing,
his eyes closing not long after I started my work so that I thought he
may have passed out.  When I finally had him naked, I retrieved a damp
cloth from the hallway bathroom and cleaned him best I could.  I
especially cleaned around his soft tired penis, loving how perfect it
was even when flaccid.

When I finished, I looked down at my baby boy and knew that our paths
were intertwined, that there was no going back even if I wanted too.
I've never felt this sexually alive with anyone before, had not known
it even possible.

I slipped sideways on my son's bed, facing his naked body, his sweet
slumbering face, and slipped a hand into my panty.  I found myself,
not surprisingly, very wet and hot.  I jumped in response when my hand
touched my clitoris.

Looking my son up and down, enjoying every centimetre of his smooth
hard thin naked body, I masturbated laying but a breath away from him.
I would not have had the nerve to do this if his eyes had been open,
drunk or not, but the erotic waves of pleasure rolling through me felt
so fucking good!

My climax came sharp and intense, my spine buckling numerous times
before I lay panting in my own sweat as I looked at my slumbering
child less than an arms length away.  The hand that had been inside my
panty was soaked with more than sweat, and I withdrew it and inspected
it proudly.

This is what Barry really wanted wasn't it?  To have his 'hot' mom
panting and willing for his adolescent pleasure?  The things he had
already described, where he would 'fuck' me if given the chance took
my breath away.  No one had ever been so bold and vulgar with me - and
I liked it, even needed it.  No longer was I the
quick-to-be-embarrassed teenager, knowing what a penis was by watching
the animals at the farm, but seeing a human male's causing my mind,
heart and body to react so oddly.

Yes, my mind was accepting my willingness, my ability, to become a
different person with regards to Barry.  There was no other man alive,
past present or future, that I could be this way - be so wanton, so
slutty for but my own child.  God, I can not believe I admitted that -
what must you think of me?  You have been reading my diatribe for many
pages now and I do not think I came across as a middle-aged slut until
these last few paragraphs - do you?

Standing carefully upon my quivering knees and leg muscles, I starred
down at my naked child.  God he was so beautiful - and I'm so lucky.

There was no hesitation as I drew my panty down my curved sexy smooth
legs, the gusset of it soaking with my earlier spend.  I slipped my
weary fingers back into my tired tender hole and withdrew them coated
with a fresh dip of my erotic sauce.  I leaned over and kissed Barry
gently and lovingly, whispering, "I love you honey."  Then I slipped
my sloppy fingers over his dry still lips until they shone with my
sexy juices.

I left my 'gift' by my son's face, on the pillow.  I hoped he would
not be so hung over so he could leave me another present in it for
tomorrow morning.

 -*-

Acceptance is a very large part of the Manifesto - and I amazed myself
how, as Barry and my intimate relationship grew, I came to understand
and agree wholly with the words I had read again and again.  Their
almost alien words taking on their true meaning as I accepted and
understood what was being conveyed to me.

First there was disgust - contemplating using sex to control my only
child is nothing less than despicable.  Then came the questions - how
this writer seemed to understand teenage boys so well.  Third came
pornography - reading the essay as if it were an adult video, used to
titillate my libido.  Finally came acceptance and understanding - the
Manifesto turning into my bible.

I would have done any sexual act for Barry that next morning - I would
have lain in any position, done anything for and with him.  I loved
Barry as no other, as I knew I never could with another.  My
ex-husband, and our sexual history, was nothing - the teenage gropings
with the boys before my marriage insignificant and forgettable.  My
son was everything to me, for me.  Nothing else could satisfy me now.

My son loved his mother - that I accepted readily, happily.  But my
son Barry was also very confused, feeling for his mother in ways that
society has taught him were wrong.  The Manifesto had decreed that
this was the most tender part of any transformation for a mother and
her child, that lives can easily be destroyed if lust was given
without love.

    [... If you start on this journey together, remember that there is
    nothing but oblivion if you fail...]

Then there was the blatant manipulation that I was attempting - to
lure my son away from the evil peers about him, to encourage him to
work harder at his school work.  I felt a strange guilt over this - as
I was now willing to do any act with my son regardless of manipulating
his future.  Yet the Manifesto had told me to be strong, that this was
just the sort of transgression that lay before me.

    [... Consider your goals, ensure they are realistic and then enact
    them to the fullest of your capabilities. ...]

I was a little confused and more than a little scared - the lip of
that cliff lay but a breath away and I had the power to destroy our
lives or to enlighten.

Jude was the only person I could talk too, honestly and openly.  Her
relationship with her son startling, at first, but envious now.  I
have been thinking about Barry fucking me in the ass since Jude
admitted John liked to do it to her - Jude had such an attractive
backside I must admit.  Hell, I have been thinking about Barry fucking
me in every room of our apartment, at every time of day and in every
position that I can conceive.  There are things that I have heard of
but had never tried, would not have wanted too if not for my
enlightenment with Barry.

I took a personal day from the hospital - and called Jude to meet with
her.  She must have heard something in my voice and immediately agreed
- but at her home.

At ten in the morning, having ensured I missed Barry that morning as I
did not trust my own judgement just then, I sat across from my best
friend in her luxurious marble and leather living room.  She listened
patiently to my tale, to the emotional conflicts that I revealed.  I
told her about the night before, about my son crying, about giving him
a hand-job and then masturbating next to his inert form and, yes, even
the gift I left for him afterwards.  But mostly I communicated how I
felt afterwards - how I wanted nothing else but to be my son's lover
but I feared ruining our lives in doing so.

When I was done, my eyes thick with emotional tears, Jude beckoned me
to follow her.  We went up to the top floor of her large home,
straight to her son's room and opened the door.  She pointed to his
wide desk, to a single drawer, and said, "Open it Jill?"

I had no energy to ask why or to deny this instruction, I easily
pulled the draw out.  Inside it was full of different sized
photographs, dozens... hundreds... all of Jude and John!

I turned to her with mouth agape, surprised at my shock of this
explicit evidence of my best friend's incestuous relationship.  She
had admitted this to me after all.

"John loves to take pictures."  She reached into the drawer, wrist
deep in unordered photographs and pulled out a single one before
handing it to me.  It was of a sweaty and wide-eyed Jude that looked
at the camera, or perhaps past the camera - but what was particular
about this picture was that the bottom edge of the picture had a large
pink crown of a penis and and obviously and recently deposited large
pearl-coloured splatters of sperm over much of her cheeks, nose,
forehead and even in her hair.  She explained calmly, "I remember
everything John and I have ever done.  At the time of that photo he
had tied me to my bed and played with me for hours.  Hours Jill!  He
fingered me, licked me, put toys in every hole of my body before
fucking me for what seemed like eternity.  I came so many times I was
a wreck, but do you want to know what I was saying just before that
picture was taken?  I was begging for him to come, to shoot his come
all over my body.  I was whimpering and out of my mind for the feel of
it.  John straddled my waist, and pumped himself all over my face
before taking that picture.  I practically cried I was so happy."

Regardless of how emotionally tender I was, I felt very turned on by
this story, by the picture and evidence in my hand.  The woman that I
had befriended was nothing like the woman in that photograph and I
understood how that duality could exist.  I was starting to lead such
a life after all.

Jude took the picture and returned it back to the drawer, closing it.
Then she took my hand and lead me to her bedroom and pointed to her
bed.  "John fucks me every night right there."  I could not help but
stare - almost hearing Jude's panting as her sixteen year old son
fucked her again and again.  I could almost hear the box spring making
obscene noises as that young hard-bodied teenager fucked his mother
with an energy and desire that was sadly lacking in my previous
marriage.

"I set down ground rules before we started."  She had told me of some
of them - for example, how John must be finished his school work
before they could have intercourse on a school night.  "But outside
that, and in the privacy of our own home, I agreed to be his sex toy
Jude.  Nothing has ever felt so right, so good, in my whole miserable
life!"

I turned to my best friend, seeing a small river of tears rolling down
her cheek.  My head is nodding, understanding.  I want to be Barry's
sex toy - I want him to discover love and sex with me, and only with
me.  I want my son to experiment sexually with me, to learn what he
wants from his partner and do it again and again with me and only me.
If Barry wanted to tie me up and ejaculate on my face every night I
would never hesitate and like Jude, I would beg for him to do it!

"Your telling me what the Manifesto promised is possible aren't you
Jude?"

    [... There will not be another moment so pure, so intense, in the
    whole of your life as that as loving your son as only you can.
    ...]

She nodded, but then added with a unwavering certainty, "And that it
is heaven on earth Jill."

 -*-

Strangely enough, Barry rushed home right after school that same
afternoon - three in the afternoon and quickly found me in our small
apartment.

I had dressed up for the evening, having big plans, with black nylons,
stocking and heels, a tight barely knee-length dark gray skirt and a
white blouse.  Beneath I wore a brand new very skimpy lace black
thong.  Of course I was sans brassiere and my blouse was just
transparent enough to see the dark hint of my nipples through it.

This was a special night - I was going to propose a change in our
lives as soon as my son arrived home.  It could not wait any longer -
the path, our paths, were set and I understood everything now.

Yet Barry found me reading in the living room and before I could even
set down my book, my reading glasses immediately after, and see if he
noticed my nipples through my transparent blouse he blurted out, "I'm
so excited mom... look!"  He shoved a paper into my hand.

It was a math exam from the Thursday before, and the mark boldly
written at the top was a 'B+'.  I had to blink several times before I
realized what this meant.

Barry jumped up and ran from the room, yelping for joy and leaving me
with his math exam and my thoughts.

Of course my original plan was shot - there was no talking to him
until he opened his Christmas gift, as it were.  And what a gift - I
was to masturbate my son topless.

My earlier disappointment disintegrated with the realization what I
was about to do very soon.  Oh sure I had done it barely hours before
- but he had not known that, being falling-down-drunk at the time.  It
would be a totally different experience when my young man conscious
and watching me with those sexy liquid twinkling eyes.

I had not even pulled out the vegetables for supper from the fridge
before Barry was back in the kitchen with me, looking all the world
like a dog anxiously waiting for his bone.  His eyes quickly
appraised, and glinted with pleasure, at my pampered appearance but it
just as quickly left him - as his impatience practically radiating
from his body.  I put down the bag of carrots on the counter and
turned to my son, "Do you have any homework tonight honey?"

He frowned slightly and then nodded anxiously 'no'.

"Would you like to go up to your room now or after supper?"

"Now mom!"  His head was bobbing comically up and down.  Of course I
had known the answer before I had even asked - but I thought it only
polite to do so.  I strode up to my son and took his hand and then
lead him to his room.

Barry followed like the anxious little puppy that he was.  I felt
deliciously naughty and so very sexy at that moment - leading my son
to his pleasure.  I was his sexual soul mate - of that I am certain
now.

Barry yanked off his clothing before I could even open my mouth to let
me do it for him, and instead only smiled sweetly before starring at
his already hard cock.  "Would you like to sit or stand honey?"  My
voice was so calm, so self assured that I felt alien doing this.

Barry's smile was infectious and very wide as she jumped to the edge
of his bed and sat down with his bare feet on the floor.  I strode up
within arms length and began to unbutton my sheer white blouse.  His
eyes widened and I saw the second he realized that he could see the
dark circles of my wide nipples.  Like my son's cock, my nipples were
hard as well.

I pulled the tails of the shirt from the waistband of my skirt and
then pulled the flaps wide, exposing my upper frontal nudity.  If
there was any question of Barry recalling what I had done with him
only last night, it was gone as soon as his eyes devoured the sight of
his mother's bare chest.  There was no way he remembered what we had
done - not looking at me as he now did.

He gasped with effort, "Oh... my... god...!"

I felt as if I was glowing with pleasure.  I loved this attention!

    [... be prepared for a unique love - something even the most
    experienced of women will feel...]

The blouse slipped from my shoulders to fall to the floor behind me.
I reached over to grab one of my son's pillows and let it drop at my
son's bare feet.  I had not realized it when I had done it, but in
leaning over I had given my son a sight of my naturally large heavy
hangers and a loud groan escaped from his lips as his eyes glared at
my pale tit flesh swaying beneath me.

I then kicked off my black heels and took a half step forward.  My son
just continued to watch my swaying breasts with so much desire so
obvious in his gaze that I knew that it would take no persuasion on
his part to have any part of me this encounter.

I was his to enjoy and he did not even know it yet!

The largest lesson that Jude had taught me earlier today was that
regardless of my urge to let myself go completely to these feelings,
to allow my son to rule me body and soul, I had to be strong enough to
use these urges to control him, to help parent him toward a great
future.  Jude had done it by submitting to her child, if certain
boundaries were set.  He called all the shots at home - she was
insanely pleased to allow him full control of her.  In all aspects she
was her son's sex slave.

I envied her this - but knew the same was possible with Barry and I.

John stayed home, away from his peers that drunk and had those sex
parties where the girls became pregnant or their fathers called the
police.  He stayed home and studied and got honours in all his
subjects.  He also stayed home to fuck his mother - to tie her up, to
spank her, to spend hours making love.  Jude had sat me down on the
edge of her bed and just talked to me for an hour, telling me things
that she and her son have done.  It was the life that I was striving
for with Barry.

Call me a slut, a whore or even an incestuous cunt!  I can care less.
The most important thing to me was that Barry worked hard at school,
had better friends and loved his mother.  Sure I wanted much more than
that - I wanted a sexual nirvana here on earth.  I wanted Barry to
continue to look at me as he is doing right this moment, to spend
every free moment willingly together, fucking, sucking and playing
every sexual game we can think of.

My hands were not overly cool as I grasped that hard member between
the two of them though Barry hissed loudly.  "Oh mom!"

I forced my eyes up from that perfect member to my son's hungry gaze,
though he was looking only at my breasts and particularly my nipples,
"You have a beautiful penis Barry."

He finally looked into my eyes and I had to squeeze my thighs together
because I saw that mischievous glint within him that I loved.  "Are
you getting hot mom?"

The smile appeared naturally, "Oh yes."

His own broadened at my disclosure.

I slipped one hand down to cup the down-covered twin ball-sack hanging
between my son's legs, the other hand began to slowly move up and
down, the fingers wrapping possessively about the shaft.

As I've explained, this is not the first cock that I've fisted, and it
was certainly not the first time I've masturbated this particular
dick, but god help me I loved doing it.  There was little doubt within
me that I would forever love doing this.

"Hum... that feels great mom!"  Barry's eyes closed and he leaned back
onto his hands and spread his knees wide, his hips gently began to
pump up and down.

Feeling more vocal than I had ever felt in such a moment in my entire
life, "This is so sexy honey!"

"Yes mom... yes!"

My eyes were partaking the bounty of my son's pleasure - starring up
and down his pure teenage form, but always drawing back to that
enlarged head of his penis thrusting up and down within my hand.
"Come for mommy honey!"

"Oh... oh... mom...!"  His hips were thrusting anxiously now and his
upper torso muscles were quivering deliciously.  It was a sight that I
shall never forget for as long as I live and I felt like the luckiest
girl alive.

My hand slipped from his balls to grasp one of my breasts from below,
hefting it expertly.  My son was grunting as he thrust into my palm,
biting his bottom lip.  Not long now I knew.

"Thats it honey... come for mommy!"  I was starring at the head of
that circumcised penis now, anxious for the pumping flow to begin.
I've seen it a few times before but I was sure that I could never see
this sight enough, that each time would be as pleasurable as the
first.

A loud groan escaped my son's lips just as the circumference of
Barry's dick enlarged just before it exploded in my hand.  I jacked it
violently, helping to pump that seed that was shooting out of him,
again and again.  I was holding his dick back and toward me, my breast
beneath and against him, the sperm splatting on my white skin and on
his bare stomach.

When, and only then, Barry's cock began to shrink and I was sure the
last drop had been milked from his gorgeous prick, did I look up to
catch my tired, panting, son starring at me with awe.  The cock
flopped down to my son's left thigh, still decreasing in size.

With my son watching me intently I brought that one soiled breast up
while bringing my chin almost down to my chest.  My tongue slide out
from my lips and began to lap at my own flesh - seeking and devouring
the 'gift' he had left for me.

If the taste of him had been delicious the night before, tasting him
with his eyes afire and from the heat of my own skin was out of this
world.  The drops that I could not reach, the index finger of my free
hand scooped up the liquid and I sucked each finger-full clean.

I've never done such an act for a man before - had never even
considered it.

Truly I have bee converted to a slut-mother now!

The process of cleaning had taken a long while - though neither of us
seemed to mind.  I stood on unsteady feet and retrieved my wrinkled
blouse.  Only then did Barry speak, "That was incredible mom?"

My smile was wide and very pleased, "I loved it... almost as much as I
love you honey?"

He could not stop gushing with enthusiasm and I drank it all up, "Your
much hotter than any other girl I've ever heard of mom!"

I could not help but be a little catty, "Better than Linda?"

His wide, awe-filled smile, slowly faded, "How do you know about Linda
mom?"

I shrugged, "You came home drunk last night honey and you mentioned
her."

Barry frowned for a moment before his smile returned to his face,
"Your much hotter than Linda mom."

No doubt, my son was influenced by the availability of his old mother
more than looks - there was no way I could compete with a teenage
hard-body.  "Thank you honey."  I was standing there holding my blouse
in one hand and my black heels in the other.  But it was the fact that
I was standing unclothed from the waist up that struck me as
deliciously naughty.  My son not oblivious to it either.

He smirked playfully, "I have a Chemistry quiz tomorrow mom."

I smirked back knowingly, "How do you think you will do?"

"An 'A' definitely!"

I laughed, his own joining me.  His laughter stopped when he heard me
say, as I strode from his room, "I hope you get it honey!"

 -*-

Tuesday came around after a quiet Monday evening, as Barry had called
me back less than an hour later where I handed him my panty and
watched him masturbate before he lay back and slept the night away.
His partying the night before had caught up with him.  This left me
with hours to myself - where I indulged in a long hot bath and then a
slow enjoyable masturbation session on my bed.

Barry came home at six on Tuesday and I knew by the look on his face
that he had not gotten the desired 'A' in his exam.  I cooked supper,
still in my nurses whites, and then the both of us cleaned up the
mess.

As I stood with my hands nearly to the elbows in sudsy waters,
scrubbing the dishes in the sink, I felt Barry's hand grasp one of my
bottom cheeks.  I only paused for less than a moment as he generously
measured and weighed that large round posterior.  "You looked more
disappointed than I that I did not bring home an 'A' mom?"  He was
fishing obviously.

I just shrugged and starred down at my working hands and spoke as a
parent, "I always want you to do better honey."

He roughly hefted my cheek so that I had to use the edge of the
counter so as not to loose my balance.  "So the idea of sucking me
does not get you hot?"

I could not, in all truth, answer that - just the idea of putting the
perfect penis between my lips caused my knees to quiver and my juices
to run.  Instead I let go of the pot I was cleaning and turned about,
my newly-freed ass against the counter, and my arms rising to encircle
my son's neck.  We looked into each others eyes as I felt him grind a
swollen hard lump into my lower navel and thigh.

"Shut up and kiss me Barry."

He blinked three times before leaning in, puckering and then pecking
me with his usual good-morning-on-the-cheek kiss.

It was my turn to blink, "Is that any way to kiss the woman who gives
you her warm panties every night?"

A slow half smirk appeared on his lower face, the glint in his eye
flaring up.  The next kiss was nothing but a train wreck - his widely
gaping mouth, the saliva running down his chin, the fat slippery
tongue shoving along the outside of my teeth and the way it felt my
neck and lower back was about to break from his pressing in on me.

When I was able to disengage from that kiss, the swollen member
thrusting into my pelvis again and again, it hit me how inexperienced
my son was with girls.  The kiss I had endured proved it.

He was panting when I slipped one hand about his neck to cup one cheek
lovingly, "Oh honey... you don't kiss a girl like that until she is
beyond caring?"  Barry frowned toward me - did he believe he was a
magnificent kisser?  "I have a proposal for you?"

My son simply nodded with barely submerged contempt... or perhaps
embarrassment?

I starred at my son straight in the eye, "We could go into the living
room and practise kissing for a while..."

His mood changed instantly and that smile again warmed my heart, not
to include that place between my legs as well.  "We are gonna make
out?"

"... afterwards, you can take the panties from me personally for your
use tonight.  How does that sound?"

The anxious desire could be seen growing up within him and I laughed
with pleasure at his obvious agreement.  "Lets finish the dishes and I
can take a shower before we start - OK honey?"

He pouted for a second before asking, "Could you leave your uniform on
mom?  I like it... really!"

I blinked twice before I understood - my white skirt, nylons and
sweater turned him on.  Wow, I never knew that before.  I suppressed
my growing happiness and pleasure, "If you wish honey - I will forgo
the shower than."

A wide smile was my only answer.

With Barry now helping, the dishes were done in record time before we
both walked in a forced slow march into the living room.  Once there
we both stood near each other and swallowed thickly at the sudden
awkwardness.

"If I was your girlfriend, Barry, how would you like me if you were
going to 'make out', as you kids call it?"  My hand reached for his
and as I tenderly fondled it.  I realized that it was the same hand
that had grasped my buttock earlier and the one most favoured by my
son for jerking off.  An odd thing to think of isn't it?

He looked around the small comfy room for a second before nodding
toward the couch, "With you laying back on the couch and me on top."
I could see that he was attempting to hid his excited half-smile.

The position did not seem quite right to me - especially after the
earlier mauling I had endured.  But the idea of laying beneath my son
was turning my legs to jelly.  I lead him to the edge of the couch,
sat back and then lifted my legs while laying my head back onto the
pillow.

I watched him, his sudden nervousness and the way he overcame that
fear, as he knelt between my ankles before leaning forward to lower
himself upon me.  Watching, I knew he was carefully placing the bulge
in his denims directly against my covered pelvis.

What a thrill watching that handsome youthful face approach, me
beneath and feeling helpless.  It was a position that I have not
enjoyed and often feared with my ex-husband, if only out of boredom,
for years.

Barry pressed my thighs wider apart before I felt the lump in his
jeans grind directly into my pelvic bone and my clitoris.  My lips
opened to groan with a mixed pleasure and pain before my son covered
my mouth with his own and shoved his tongue into me.

Suddenly I found myself being dry humped and orally assaulted at the
same time.  Barry was all over the place and I quickly felt
overwhelmed and out of control.  I pushed on my son's chest and
pressed his face away from my own, "Stop Barry!"

He knelt above me blinking in surprise for being stopped, a quick hurt
look that immediately disappeared.

"Too much too fast honey!"  I lifted my legs awkwardly from around his
hips and instructed, "Here honey, sit back and relax."

Barry paused for only a moment before he did as I asked, sitting with
his back straight directly in the middle of my old comfortable couch.

Then he watched with pleasure as I hefted the hem of my white coarse
nurses skirt up to a point well above mid-thigh and then effortlessly
knelt straddling my son's lap.

Both my hands came up and cupped my darling boy's face, drawing my own
close to his.  "Now keep your eyes open, at least at first, and try to
kiss me as so lightly that I won't be able to feel it."

Barry leaned forward and puckered up to kiss my upper lip.  It was
less than perfect and I blinked in exasperation.  "Honey, open your
mouth like you were doing earlier - just not so wide."

The next kiss was much better, a feather touch upon my lips, gently
molding to my own mouth.  When we withdrew, I knew my face was flush
with pleasure.  "Much better honey!"  A smile was my response.  Could
Barry feel how it affected me?  "Now do that again, but after a while
press your lips harder... just just a little.  And remember to keep
your eyes open, look into my own."

That kiss started slow, and just as instructed, increased in fervour
until I was panting with desire.  All the while, my son starred into
my eyes with a glint that increased my excitement.  The mere pleasure
I received just being so intimately close to my son, his very breath
massaging my lower face, turned me on immensely.

Never would I have been able to do this with anyone else - lest of all
my ex-husband.  My husband's idea of a kiss was simply a pit-stop on
the way to my breasts.  In fact, most boys prior to my marriage did
exactly the same.  So this lesson I was giving my son was how I
imagined the perfect kiss should be like, how I wanted to be kissed
and not based on any great kissing moments in my past.

Now I wanted my son to kiss me!

Hadn't the Manifesto stated that an adolescent son was like sexual
putty, to be molded into a lover for one very special woman.  Me, of
course.

    [... He was created from your body.  Whom else do you believe
    could make a more perfect mate? ...]

Breathless, "Again, but this time, afterwards, close your eyes and
slip the tip of your tongue into my mouth.  Move it slowly around,
play with my own, explore gently everywhere."

He nodded and then eagerly began the third part of this lesson - and
before his tongue actually slipped into my mouth I knew he was going
to be a great kisser.  I could feel it in his body - he really enjoyed
this slow build up of oral desire.

As that tongue explored boldly but gently, and my son's old mother was
a panting mound of desire, two hands suddenly grabbed each of my ass
cheeks and yanked me toward him.  A surprised yelp escaped from me,
then when I felt that familiar hardness throbbing against my covered
mound, that surprised sound quickly turned to a loud moan of desire.

The fact that my son had bypassed my chest, the first place any the
boys I had been intimate prior to my son would have gone for, and gone
for my ass had not escaped me.  In fact, it gave me a thrill to think
I was more than two titties with legs.

He probably was not aware of it, but this extended kiss was getting
very passionate - almost rough - and I loved it.  My hips were humping
back and forth on his lap, shoving my covered sex into my son's.  His
hands guiding and groping me at the same time, had worked beneath the
bundled up hem of my nurses skirt to grasp my panty and nylon covered
bottom.

When Barry started to grunt with heightened pleasure, I withdrew my
lips and my sex from against him.  We shared a lengthy intimate look -
both of us knowing that if I had not withdrawn, he would have climaxed
in his pants.

"How was it this time mom?"  His voice sounded rough, forced.

"Much better!"  And it was.

"You don't mind this?"  Both hands grabbed and held my meaty large ass
for emphasis.

I was still beside myself from the passionate kiss, better than I ever
remember before this moment, so I answered with more honesty that I
probably should have, "I really like it honey."

My son smiled widely and pulled me back for another kiss.

I gave no resistance.

The sly devil was a natural, forgoing the first step, the feather-like
kisses and going straight to the firm open mouth lock.

It took much less time this kiss, for me to be humping against my
son's denim covered hard cock, for him to be groaning in pleasure.  We
both pulled away from the other this time, neither of us wanting it to
end like this, right now, while the both of us were in a very erotic
way.

"I think, maybe, you should give me your panties now mom."  He smirked
just like his father would have done.  "I don't think I can wait much
longer."

I nodded, understanding and feeling in simpatico.  A large part of me
wanted to reach between us and free that which we both desired - I
could sit up and lower myself down to my son and...!

Though I was nervous about standing back onto my feet, I carefully
backed off my son's lap and stood straddling his bare feet and knees.

"Are you going to take off your skirt mom?"

My mouth was so dry but I forced, "You can reach under."

This is a good time to reveal something that I've known only for a
short while now, barely a couple of days.  I was simply powerless to
my son's advances.  I don't mean if he nervously asks me for
something, or requests another thing.  No.  If my son told me to take
my skirt off I would do it immediately - there is no doubt in my mind.
If he told me get on my knees and suck him off I would do it in a
heartbeat.  But it would have to be an order, not a request.

That is my Achilles Heel!

So I could never reveal this to him, could not tell him that my desire
for him forced me to be totally submissive to his lust.  Instead, I
suppose, Barry may someday figure it out himself - but until that day,
I would be able to go on fooling the both of us that I was in charge.

My son nodded at my rejection, not seeming the least disappointed, I
was thankful to notice.  He leaned forward, his eyes staring at the
hands lifting between us.  Barry placed both open palms at a point
just above each of my knees and held it there.

With surprisingly calm voice, my son revealed, "When I was a boy mom,
I used to like starring at your legs when you wore your uniform skirt.
I always imagined what they felt like."  His fingers gently squeezed
and fondled my lower thigh as my heart soared at this previously
unknown revelation.  "Warm... smooth..."

Here was my son admitting to being infatuated, in some innocent form,
with his mom prior to her accepting that essay from Jude.  It eased
the burden of guilt more than a little from my encumbered soul.  The
fact that it was not my breasts, also caught my attention.

The hands slowly eased upward, the hem of my skirt rising with them -
both of our eyes following the snail-like progress anxiously.  A
gentle request escaped my lips, "Tell me more honey?"  I wanted to
hear about how he lusted after me - how hot I was making him.

With a half smile, Barry looked up into my eyes and had to have seen
how 'hot' his mom was at that moment.  There was simply no way I could
hide, even if I wish to do so any longer.  "I used to sneak into your
room just to watch you sleep mom, wishing that I could lay next to
you... against you."

And inside me, I wondered?

The strong warm hands slipped to the outside of each of my thighs,
rising up past my hips to my waist.  My skirt nearly revealing all its
secrets but stopped just short of my covered sex.  Two sets of fingers
slipped carefully into the elastic waistband of my white nylons.

"I used to stay up every Saturday night to listen to you and dad have
sex."  That startled me - my ex-husband demanded his marital coupling
just before midnight each and every Saturday night up until a year
before our separation.  "I would put a cup against the wall and
listen, pretending it was me and you."  I remember about every one of
those Saturday sex sessions as being less than perfect - my husband
fumbling with his fingers in my vagina as he sucked my nipples, then
he awkwardly climbed above me and shoved back and forth until he
pumped his seed deep into my body.  There really was not much that
Barry could have heard - and I was suddenly nervous to think that my
son was using those moments, years ago, as a comparison with his
lust-filled dreams about me.  I've felt more passion in my life in the
last two weeks than I had felt in the entire marriage of Saturday
nights.

My nylons resisted at first, but then eased down my curvy hips and
thighs.  Barry was all eyes now, simply experiencing everything about
this moment.

I carefully stepped out of the white leggings, my son holding my
ankles to guide them past my bare feet.  He brought the crotch of the
reinforced nylon up to his nose and inhaled deeply, "Warm... damp...",
he spoke with a pleased smirk, "but not as sexy as your panties mom."

The nylons fell immediately from his hands, falling to our feet as if
forgotten.  Those hands rose slowly and inched up the outside of my
bare thighs, moving back to my hips.

I had worn another of my new bikini-cut panty, thin white cotton - the
crotch of which was sure to be saturated with my desire.

Barry's fingers were trembling as he hooking his thumbs into the
waistband of my undergarment.  Without a pause, and rather anxiously I
saw with pleasure, he pulled them down to my knees with a smooth pull.

Stopping there, he was starring at my inner thigh, just above the
inside of my knees and it took a few seconds to realize what it was
that drew his attention.  My hands had unconsciously helped my son, by
holding the hem of my skirt upper mid-thigh.

The shock of what drew my son's attention was brief but caused me to
feel like I was about to fall with sudden dizziness.  As hot and
passionate as our earlier kissing and petting had been, I had leaked
an abundant amount of juices into my panty.  After drawing them to my
knees, a slimy trail of juice was obvious to even my son's
inexperienced eye.

Had I ever been so wet?

Barry just sat starring at the inside of my thighs, perhaps forgetting
that the juices he was viewing was the same that he had sampled from
my underwear every night for days.  Yet, I knew this was different for
both of us - this was evidence of how 'hot' his old mom gets, she was
actually leaking upon her own skin.

The lengthy tension was suddenly broken as my son rose a hand and
rubbed one index finger along a trail of juice before bringing it up
to his mouth.  His finger was slimy with me as I watched him open his
sexy full lips, close his eyes, and then slip his finger into his
mouth and suck.

He stayed in this position for almost a full moment as his mother
stood frozen and watched.  Then suddenly, Barry's eyes snapped open
and he rushed to remove my panty down to my ankles and then quickly
rushed to remove them from each foot.  He jumped up, a warm and very
wet cotton garment in his fist, and started to rush anxiously from the
room - the bulge in his pants leading the way.

Just before he exited, my son suddenly stopped, looked back at me and
then returned to my side.  I still stood facing the couch, feet
shoulder width apart with both my hands holding the hem of my skirt
mid-thigh.  Barry quickly kissed my cheek while his free hand slipped
beneath the raised hem of my skirt to gave a single grope of my bare
ass.  "I love you mom!"

Then he was gone.

 -*-

I masturbated twice that night!

The first, a rushed affair - fumbling and rolling about naked upon my
bed.  It was exquisite.  The second, after a long hot bubble bath,
again on my bed, my mind reliving my earlier kissing and fondling with
my son.  My hand and fingers and slipped behind to fondle my ass, to
tease my anus - my fantasies filled with images of my son.  The second
orgasm was lengthy and perfect.

Sleep came quickly afterwards.

"Mom?"

My eyes opened to a gray lit room... night... the street light shining
through my window.  I realized that my son stood over me and suddenly
my eyes shot wide, "Barry!  What is it, whats wrong honey?"

"Its OK mom... really."  His voice was soothing and I relaxed back
into my large soft pillow.  My mind was still weary from sleep, my
body from the two delightful orgasms hours earlier.  I peaked at my
bedside light to see that it was nearly two in the morning.  Wasn't
this a school night?

Barry sat on the edge of my bed while asking, "Could we talk mom?"

Of course my son could talk to me - when was the last time we really
talked?  I shuffled over upon my double mattress as I realized that I
was completely naked beneath my duvet.  Hadn't the duvet been about my
navel when my son had called to me initially?  Was there enough light
in my room for him to have seen his mother's bare breasts?

Did it matter?  My son had ejaculated upon my chest already, having
viewed my large breasts in the light of day.

He slipped smoothly into a laying position, slipping beneath the
covers.  Defensively, I pressed the duvet to the mattress between us
and waited for him to speak up.  Both of us laying upon our sides,
heads on two different pillows, facing the other.  Only then, did I
realize that Barry was naked - I really am tired if I had not noticed
that first thing.

Finally, in almost a whisper, "What is going on between us mom?"

I physically shook my head, determined to get my weary mind to wake -
obviously this conversation would take all my wits.  "What do you mean
son?"  Of course I knew what he meant, but I was buying time - not
prepared for this talk.

"I heard you playing with yourself mom.  I saw how hot and wet you
were.  I had to play with myself three times tonight before... it
would go down."  It was difficult to see his face in the gray light,
but I saw my son frown as he tried to overcome his embarrassment and
speak plainly.  "I can't get the thought of you out of my mind... and
I know its wrong?"  The last statement, my son's voice had gone up an
octave.

It is wrong!  Barry was echoing my own thoughts when I first read the
Manifesto - suggesting an incestuous relationship.  A wave of guilt
overcame me - and looking at my confused son, an almost physical pain
radiated from these thoughts.

Was I tearing him apart - was I doing more harm than good.  Had the
Manifesto been wrong all this time?

It had been so seductive - a youthful and energetic man who loved me,
whom I could trust and most of all, who was sexually attracted to me
and accepted all my ageing faults.

I know what the Manifesto would say now - it would tell me to remove
the duvet and take control of the situation, use my body and my love
to calm my son's torment.  Could that be right - that blatant
manipulation?

--

TO BE CONTINUED