Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 

   Women are being scrutinized worldwide for their mistakes more than men.
My mother Meena Balsawar was no exception.  She was never forgiven for the
mistake of eloping and marring my father Azeem Khan.  In Indian society
intra-religion marriage is considered a taboo.  Such a marriage often
brings adjustment problems and the fear of inter-mingling of faith and loss
of identity.  The good thing was that my parents were happy together.  They
never compelled each other to change his or her religion.  Soon I was born
and named Aryan.

   I don't know from where to start this story.  From the time when I was
20 or from the time when my mom was 20.  Let me start it from the time when
I was 20.  One day my parents were traveling on a highway when their car
crashed.  My father died immediately but mom survived.  She remained in
hospital for almost a month.  She recovered physically but not mentally.

   Her doctor said that my mother is a case of partial Amnesia.  In simple
terms, amnesia is the loss of memory Or it means partial inability to
recall past experiences.The most shocking thing was the fact that instead
of recognizing me as her son she recognized me as her husband.  After
coming in senses she cried, "Is that you Azeem?" she came forward and
hugged me.  I hugged her back but I knew that Azeem was the name of my
father .  She continued, "Oh my darling, you don't know how much I've
missed you, how I've longed to be with you.  I'm so happy to be here with
you"

   "I....I am Aryan." I told her

   "Aarya..N!" Her face went blank

   "You...rr Son!" I reminded her

   "My...  No Aryan is the name of my dog."

   She didn't remember me!  She didn't know who I am?  Only, it was then
that I realized she as if she was someone else and I was a bystander
watching her life continue without me there in my normal role as her son.

   The doctors prescribed some pills but the pills made her sleepy and
nauseous.  So I took her to see a psychiatrist and he prescribed more
pills, only the pills he prescribed made her too happy.  Then, she crashed
and tried to kill herself by taking all the pills.  When I found her
unconscious, I called for an ambulance.  The doctor at the emergency room
pumped out her stomach and then signed the papers to put her in the psyche
ward for 30 days observation.  When they classified her as catatonic, they
wanted me to sign the papers for them to keep her, but I refused and
brought her home instead.  Neither hers nor my dad's family was there to
help us.

   Mom was around 40 and was not really beautiful but her big black eyes
and long black hairs defied her age.  Her breasts were quite big and the
roundness of her bottom made her look very feminine.  She was plump -
there's no other way to put it.  I sometimes wondered why my father fell in
love with her.  It took me sometime to realise Why?

   The last doctor I met gave me a strange advice when I told him that my
mom thinks I'm Dad.  I never really thought about the possibility of her
thinking that I was my Dad.

   "For her health sake pretend" he said

   "I really didn't consider the the role of having to pretend that I was
her husband."

   "By pretending as your dad you can help her?  He is someone she still
remembers.  Your Mom is just depressed.  It's just a temporary condition
and she'll snap out of it, I hope.  Won't she?'

   "She's my Mom.  I care for her.  I'm willing to do whatever it takes for
her to get better."

   Fortunately, she's able to wash, dress, feed, and go to the toilet
herself.  I felt a bit ridiculous pretending to be my Dad.  What did I know
about being married?  Yeah, sure, I knew my Dad and my Mom, but only as my
Dad and my Mom and not as a husband knows his wife.  At twenty years old, I
was still wet behind the ears.  I hate to admit it, but I'm still a virgin.
The only time I've had sex is with myself, by my own hand, and late at
night when I have a wet dream.  The only women I've seen naked are the ones
in magazine like Playboy.  I'm pathetic.  All my friends are in
relationships, living with a woman or married even, and here I am still
living with my Mom.

   Hope is the thing that keeps me going and the reason why I care for my
Mom in the way that I do with the personal sacrifices that I make.  I hope
she'll get better.  I hope there's an internal switch that clicks on.

   So, now, for me to have some sort of normal relationship with my Mom, I
pretend that I'm my Dad.  Where she didn't hardly speak to me before, at
least she's talking to me now.  I'm not a psychiatrist, but I take that as
a healthy sign.  Even if she's in denial over her reality by not accepting
my Dad's death and thinking that I'm him, it's still better than how she
was before.

   Except for her thinking that I'm Dad, she seems better.  She's more
animated.  She smiles more, laughs, even.  She's been talking to me more
and her appetite has improved.  She even goes out back with the dog,
something she'd never do, go outside, before.  I'm starting to see signs of
how she used to be.

   Before her accident she used to keep herself well concealed.  But after
returning from the hospital she used to walk around the house topless, even
naked sometimes, in front of me.  I was her son, her flesh and blood. 
Trusting me not to wildly desire her, it was all innocent really.  Without
giving it any thought, she'd change her clothes with her bedroom door open
or emerge from the bathroom, after having taken a shower with just a towel
over her hair.  We only had the one bathroom and it wasn't unusual for me
to wait outside the bathroom door for her to be done, so that I could pee.
Sometimes, I'd pretend I had to pee so bad that she'd let me inside and I'd
always tried to sneak a peek of her in the shower.

   How could she not know that seeing her topless or naked would give me
incestuous thoughts?  She should have known better.  Why would she do that?
She was driving me mad with desire for her.  Maybe it was her plan to
seduce me, all along, but I never saw it that way.

   She was my Mom and I always blamed myself for trying to see what I
wasn't suppose to see and trying to touch what I wasn't supposed to touch.
Always feeling guilty for my inappropriate thoughts and my bad behavior in
wanting my mother the way I did, I was wrong for acting out my thoughts and
making my sexual urges a reality.  Thinking of her as the innocent victim,
thinking of her as my Mom, and thinking of me as the bad son, I was the
perverted one and not her.  She was my Mom.  She was always the innocent
one.  I was the one taking advantage of her.  I couldn't help myself.

   Always looking, always staring, and leering at her, every time she sat,
I was treated to side flashes of her trimmed, red pussy.  Every time she
stood, I saw the side of her breast.  When she moved about our small house,
especially stretching to reach for something or leaning down to pick up
something, I was treated to continual flashes of her pubic hair and
nipples. Being flashed in that way, to see bits and pieces of her through
the unbuttoned buttons of her blouse, rather than seeing her totally naked,
was so much more erotic.

   One day I was standing in front of the mirror, stripped to my waist,
brushing my teeth and admiring myself.  I was good looking, or so I had
been told on many occasions, athletic and muscular-- and, looking down at
my crotch, well hung.  I pulled open the front of my pajamas and stared at
my crank.  My sleeping penis twitched at the thought of seeing mom naked,
waking up and beginning to stand at attention.

   'Oh, you want some, huh, buddy?' I thought to myself as I pulled it out
and began to stroke my johnson, thinking of touching mom and of her sucking
my cock.  I quickly blasted my man choad in the sink, I patted the rapidly
deflating tent pole, "Good boy!"

   I constantly masturbated over all that I saw of her.  It was a vicious
cycle.  The more I saw of her body, the more I masturbated.  The more I
masturbated, the more I wanted to see.  My incestuous lust for her was
never ending and all consuming.  I always wondered if she knew I jerked off
over the thoughts of touching her, when I did feel and see something that I
shouldn't have seen or felt.  The walls in our house are paper thin, she
must have heard me playing with my cock and cumming?  I always wondered if
she enjoyed me touching her, as much as I enjoyed touching her.

   Any time she walked by the living room windows in the early morning, the
sun would light her up, as if she was on fire.  I could see through her
petticoat and see her curvaceous body, as if she was naked.  Every time she
leaned in the refrigerator with the kitchen light off or stood in front of
the television at night, I could see the naked outline of her through her
dress.  Always horny, insane with incestuous thoughts for my Mom, I was
always looking to see what I could use later, while masturbating over the
thoughts

   I was sure that directly approaching her for sex would have spoiled our
relations and would have never been able to fuck her.  Even though I was
her beloved son, her only child, I was no better than any of the lowlife
men who fuck anything with a hole.  While plotting how to see her naked, I
planned what to do when I did see her naked.  While plotting how she could
see me naked, I planned what to do when she did see me naked.

   It was not her marriage anniversary but one day I told her it is.  I
left her alone to go to the market and bought her the things that Dad would
have bought her on such a day, roses, a heart shaped box of chocolates, and
a card.  Maybe it's wrong to pretend that I'm him, but isn't it better than
watching her slip more away?  Isn't it better than visiting her on weekends
at the mental hospital?  Isn't it better that I'm here to help her when
she's unable to help herself?

   I put them all on the table, the flowers, the candy, and the card,
waiting for her to awaken and when she saw them, she was so excited. 
Finally, she noticed.  She brought a tear to my eye.  She was just like my
old Mom.

   "Oh, how nice," she said.  "Thank you, Azeem, for the flowers, the
candy, and the card dear," she said leaning in to me and giving me a kiss
on the lips.

   Her kiss startled me and I was so excited that I hugged her.  My Mom
just kissed me on the lips.  She hasn't done that since I was a kid.  Oh,
shit, I thought and it was then that I really started to worry.

   "I'm sorry that I didn't buy you anything Azeem,"

   She thinks I'm Dad.  She really thinks I'm Dad.  I mean, I never really
thought about the consequences of her thinking that I was my Dad.  I was
just so happy that she was talking to me again.  I really didn't consider
the intimacy or the sexual role of having to pretend that I was her
husband.

   "Happy Annversiry Meena," I said continuing the ruse by trying to act
more like Dad.

   Hoping that by acting like Dad, she'd realize that I wasn't her husband
and that would snap her out of it, I decided to continue the role playing.
Using the only psychological training that I had taken from sitcoms and
reality TV, it sounded good to me.  Only warning signs and sirens were
flashing in my head.

   If you're not a trained professional in psychiatry, don't try this at
home.  Maybe by pretending to be my Dad, I was making her disconnection
worse.  Maybe by forcing her not to confront my Dad's death, I was removing
her further from reality.

   Fortunately or unfortunately, whichever the case may be, but a weird
phenomena happens when you suffer a tragic loss, such as a death in the
family.  All the friends and relatives, who wouldn't go home after the
funeral and who brought you food and hung around offering their help and
support, are all gone.  There for you then, now no one calls and no one
comes to visit us, anymore.  In this case, however, that was a good thing
because how would I explain my reasoning to them that I pretended to be my
Dad?

   We had a wonderful dinner and my Mom actually talked to me during
dinner. It was like old times, albeit a bit bizarre by the conversation
with her thinking that I was her husband.  Some of the references she made
were things that my Dad and she must have known about, but nothing that I
would know.  So, I nodded my head pretending I knew what she was talking
about, even though I didn't have a clue.  I understood some of the other
things by what else she said and I was able to give her an appropriate
reply.

   "You go in the living room," I said, nearly calling her Mom but I caught
myself, "I'll clean up here."

   "Would you like to watch a movie?" she said

   A movie?  Wow.  My Mom loved movies.  She doesn't watch much television,
expect for movies.  She likes movies, old movies.  I suspect she's living
in the past, maybe a time before I was born.

   "Sure," I said.  "That would be fun, Meena."

   Only, when I walked in the living room, after having cleaned up the
kitchen, I couldn't believe my eyes.  My Mom had already changed into a
very sexy and very revealing shiffon Saree.  Where did she get that?  I
never saw her wear that saree before.  Maybe it was something she wore only
when she was with my Dad and in the mood.

   Maybe when she wore this sexy Saree, this was her signal to tell my Dad
that she was in a romantic mood.  Oh, fuck.  Maybe she thinks I'll give her
sex.  Eww.  Gross.  No way!  Sorry, I can't go there.  As much as I want
sex, as much as I would love to experience a naked woman, as horny as I am,
having sex with my Mom is just not right.

   I looked at her.  I couldn't take my eyes off her.  With her hair let
down and cascading all about her shoulders, she was so beautiful in her red
saree.  Maybe red was my Dad's favorite color.  Like father like son, it
sure is mine now that I see it.  Seeing her dressed or undressed like this,
I couldn't help but peek.  Actually, I couldn't help but stare.

   Immediately, I could feel my cock stiffen.  This is nuts.  I was lusting
over my mother, my pretend wife.  I felt like such a pervert.  For having
such incestuous thoughts, I'm the one who needs a psychiatrist, not her.

   She was sitting on the couch when I entered the living room.  An old
romantic movie was playing on the telly.

   "You look handsome today," She commented sending my adrenals pumping
fast.  I immediately noticed that her face had an expression which probably
I have never seen before.

   "Thank you," I acknowledged.  "You are looking gorgeous too!"

   "That's very kind of you," mom smiled broader and winked at me.

   "You seem to prefer chiffon sarees," I spoke to slowly induce her into
the subject I wanted her to speak.

   Her eyes were lit with surprise as she replied, "That's true; I look
younger than I am."

   I winked at her and said, "I don't think you are old at all!"

   She lowered her head looking deeply into my eyes.  I felt she has begun
catching the clue from me.

   "That's a nice compliment to get from a handsome guy like you Azeem,"
she winked again.

   Suddenly she was up and began moving towards me.  My heart was pounding
fast as she touched my shoulders with her hands.  "What else do you think I
can do?" she queried while her lips sported a mischievous smile.

   Before my saying anything Mom walked back and pushed me gently onto the
sofa and took a step or two backwards.  As I kept looking at her wondering
what would happen next, she began unveiling her saree with amazing ease and
through the heap on to the floor.  She was wearing a long petticoat and a
short blouse in red color.  The petticoat fabric looked like settled on her
smooth thighs while I could see the outline of her nipples through her
blouse.

   "What are you doing, M...meena?" I watched her unbutton her blouse.

   "What does it look like I'm doing, Azeem?  I'm taking off my clothes,"
she said unbuttoning the buttons of her blouse.

   "But why?" I asked and felt a fool

   "If you already have an erection from just seeing the top of my bra and
my cleavage, Azeem, I can't imagine how you'll be, once you see my tits,
ass, and pussy," she said laughing and stared at the bulge in my pants.

   She began unhooking her blouse as though she obviously knew what I
wanted.  I was already aroused the moment she got rid of her saree and
seeing her removing her blouse was sending thunders on my dick.  She
slipped out of her blouse and then unhooked her bra and let it fall by her
side.  Her beautifully full breasts and brown nipples were now in front of
my eyes.

   I stammered, "You have a wonderful pair of tits!"

   "You can feel them," she winked at me.  "But I want you to be gentle
with them."

   She returned to the sofa and sat besides me.  God, what am I doing? 
What am I thinking?  This is my Mom.  I'm taking advantage of my
emotionally distraught Mother.  This is so wrong, only, I was so young and
so horny.

   I started alternating between her breasts kissing, licking and sucking.
She cradled my head in her hands and began moaning softly.  As I kept
playing with her majestic globes, she managed to get rid of her petticoat
through her legs.  I slid my hand along her thigh without taking off my
mouth from her breasts.  She hissed and opened her legs slightly.  Our
tongues met each others and began teasing each other before she pulled away
for a second.

   "I guess your meat is upright and raring to go," she said sliding her
hands inside the waist band of my shorts.  I was equal to the task as I
took it off in a flash to release my hard long dick.  She reached further
down, gently cupped my balls in her right hand and lowered her lips to my
shaft.

   The feeling of her moist lips and tongue on my cock sent shock waves in
my nervous system.  She continued her oral adventures as my big meat was
completely devoured by her hungry mouth.  I closed my eyes trying to
imagine that it wasn't my mother sucking my cock.  I tried to pretend
Actress Rani was blowing me.  I tried to pretend it was Nazo, a girl that I
liked, but she didn't like me enough to continue, especially with me never
leaving the house anymore.  Only, I couldn't help but look down and when I
did, I saw that it was my mother blowing me.  Certainly, it was more than
exciting to watch my Mom suck my cock than to imagine it Nazo or the
actress Rani blowing me.

   I leaned to the side, I wanted to see my cock in my mother's mouth and
when I did, it was even more exciting.  To see my big, thick prick
stretching my mother's mouth was something that I couldn't imagine.  Never,
even in my wildest sexual fantasies, have I ever imagined my Mom giving me
a blowjob.  It was so exciting to feel the warmth of her hand stroking me,
while she sucked me.  She was blowing me, really blowing me.

   Gently, I stroked her hair, while I humped her mouth.  I was fucking my
mother's face.  I couldn't help myself.  I wanted to cum.  I wanted to cum
in my mother's mouth.

   "Stop it now!" I began pleading with her.  "I may cum."

   She gently slapped me on my cheeks and assured, "You are going to enjoy
this."

   She was right!  What followed was a series of erotic sensations as I
began feeling the stiffness in my balls.  As she enjoyed licking and
sucking every bit of my ever lengthening dick, I was groaning while my grip
on her tits was getting firmer and harder.  My dick was getting the treat
of my life for sometime before my hot cum started releasing spurt after
spurt.  She kept gulping most of the thick loads as I watched in utter
dismay.

   Mom stood up with her hands on her waists.  "Now let me see what you are
going to do with me."

   My eyes widened as I watched the naked woman standing like a sex demon.
Oh, my God.  I have never gone down on a woman before.  I've never touched
a woman there before.  I've never even seen a pussy up close.  What do I
do? What do I do?  This is all so very new and for my first pussy to be my
Mom's pussy was beyond believable.

   She wasted no time in returning to the sofa and spread her legs wide
apart.  I went on my knees, held her waist and reached her clit.  The
feminine aroma emanating from her clitoris stimulated my cock to regain its
vigor and length.  My hands began moving as my fingers started opening her
lips gently before I started licking her slogged womanhood.  I kept
motioning my tongue brush slowly up and down her pussy while she swirled.

   "Baapre Baap," she screamed.  "You are doing alright!"

   I gently inserted my finger inside her, along with my tongue and she
gasped.  Following her moves, gently, I rubbed her clit, while licking her.
Never having done any of this before, it all came naturally to me and I
picked it up quickly.  I was finger fucking my mother.  I was getting erect
again.

   "Oh, my God, you're so wet," I said.

   My face was covered with her wetness.  I had my Mom's secretions even up
my nose.  I was drowning in her wetness and in the sexuality of my Mom.

   "Hey Azeem.  I need to feel your cock.  Fuck me, fuck me hard.  Make me
cum.  I want to cum." I felt my mother's hand reaching down to take my cock
in her hand and insert it inside of her.  Nice and tight, she was so very
wet and so very warm.

   I couldn't believe my cock was buried in my mother.  I couldn't believe
I was fucking my mother.  No longer a virgin, I couldn't believe I was
finally getting laid and by all people, my Mom.  I couldn't believe I was
having sex with my mother.  I couldn't believe my Mom thought I was her
husband and after already giving me a blowjob, and after I ate her pussy
and finger fucked her, now she was fucking me.

   "Fuck me, Meena," I blurted.  "Fuck me!"

   We were making love on the couch and then on the floor, while the movie
still played and all the while.

   Then, it happened, I was ready to cum.  It happened to so fast and I
couldn't stop.  I exploded all that I had in my mother.  As if on cue, as
soon as she felt my warm oozy gush, she had an orgasm, too.  She grabbed me
so hard and hugged me so long, I couldn't breathe.  I made my Mom cum.  I
couldn't believe it.

   She was hanging onto me so hard that I thought she'd crush my bones. 
She had her legs wrapped around me, while I was still buried deep inside my
Mom.  We stayed like that for a while, until I grew hard again and started
humping her again.  Then, she rolled me over and got on top of me.

   She was fucking me, really fucking me.  She was insatiable.  She was a
wildcat.  Maybe because it had been such a long time since she had sex and
with me never having sex, we were mad with desire for one another.

   My Mom was sitting on my cock, bouncing and gyrating.  Her tits were
bouncing up and down and side to side, as she fucked me really hard.  I
reached up and caressed her breasts and fingered her nipples before leaning
up to suck her tits, while my cock was still swollen inside of her.  I
couldn't believe I was sucking my Mom's tits while fucking her, but I was.

   "Oh!  Oh!  Oh!  AAAggggggggggA!" she moaned

   Jamming my cock into her old and used pussy, all I was thinking about,
care about, was making her pussy mine.  My cock felt good inside of her and
she made a vain attempt to match fast rhythm.  Her pussy was losing its
lubrication allowing me to feel the tightness of her pussy.

   "That's it!  Slow down a bit!  Screw that pussy nice and slow."

   I had read that if a woman's pussy was not fucked regularly then her
pussy would be as tight as a virgin.

   "You're hard as a rock!  I can feel it in my belly.  I think you want to
fill my pussy!"

   "I do!  I do!"

   "Then do it, Azeem!"

   Ever so slowly I pushed my cock deep into her pussy.  As I pushed into
her again, she loosened her muscles to recapture me in her trap. 
Involuntarily, my rhythm increased and she did her best to keep up with me
while working her long unused pussy muscles.  I was now concentrating on
filling my mother's pussy with my warm, sterile semen.

   I moaned loudly as my cock jerked once, twice, three times inside her
pussy.

   "Yes!" She flexed her pussy muscles to milk my cock of every ounce of
cum.

   We fell asleep for the next couple of hours, drifting in and out of
consciousness.  I would awaken throughout the night to give her a kiss, or
to skim the silky goodness of her hips before drifting back to sleep.  The
first time was not the last time.  I used to pretend she was my girlfriend
and I was her lover.  I remember my cock was so hard from having our naked
bodies pressed so close together.  I loved rubbing my cock against my Mom's
naked ass, parting her cheeks, and rubbing it against her pussy.

   I remember watching her sleep.  My favorite thing to do was to strip my
Mom naked and I couldn't believe that I got away with stripping her naked
so many times, dozens of time.  Yet, I was so nervous stripping her that
I'd think every time was the last time.  Every time, I figured she'd know
that I stripped her and touched, fondled her, and caressed her.  I figured
she'd be mad at me the next day.  Every time, I figured she'd wake up and
catch me doing something so forbidden and inappropriate to her body, but
she never did.  No one ever knew that I had my way with her.  It was my
insanely perverted secret and I shouldered all of that guilt myself for all
those years.

   Incest is such a magnetic connection.  Stronger than any drug on the
market, incest is something that makes me feel so excited before I act on
my incestuous thoughts and makes me feel so depressed after I do.  Why is
the connection so strong?  Why must incest be so wrong?

   Why must I be so tortured with thoughts of wanting to see my mother
naked?  Why does it excite me to think about exposing my cock to her?  Why
must I be paralyzed with the urge to touch her and for her to touch me?

   What's wrong with me?  What's wrong with her?  Even though I know I'm
not normal to have these feelings, as soon as I think about my Mom's body,
I don't care about being normal or not.  As if a junkie needing another fix
that makes me feel oh so good before feeling oh so bad, I just want her.

   Why?  Why?  Why?  I know it's deeply rooted and according to Freud, all
men want to sleep with their mothers, but we're not animals living in a
cave.  We're rational beings living in a society that frowns on incestuous
sex.

   With so many questions surrounding the issue, I find myself not wanting
to know the answers.  Maybe I'd stop using and abusing my Mom if I knew why
I lusted over her.  Maybe the answer is simply seeing her naked and
touching her naked body feels good.  Maybe the answer is simply her seeing
me naked and her touching my naked body feels too good to want to stop. 
Maybe that's the answer in a nutshell, incest just feels good and I can't
stop.  Maybe I just don't want to stop.

   Once I knew that I could have my way with her I was abusing her more and
more.  I even fucked her anally.

   "I want you again, Azeem," she said softly.

   "I want to fuck your ass Meena, it turns me on," I told her and she got
up and led me down to the bedroom.

   She spit on her hand and rubbed it between her ass cheeks to moisten her
little puckered hole.  She lay down on her stomach and arched her sweet ass
up in the air as she continued to lube it with her saliva.  She motioned me
to come around in front of her and pulled my cock to her lips.  She drew me
into her mouth and sucked me to lubricate my cock.  She had a great mouth
and I had to pull out before I came again.  I positioned myself over her
ass and inched forward, she spread her legs to give me better access.  The
head hit the opening and I inched it forward and popped through her anal
ring and she let out a sigh.

   Soon, I began pumping mom's sweet little ass and she began to thrust
back up at me, moaning with each penetration.  After my great blow job to
lube me up, it didn't take long and I spewed my cum into her ass.  Her ass
was not vey tight but felt great.  It was hard to control myself, I
couldn't make any noises either.  I jammed my cock in her ass as I unloaded
my cum in her.  Her one hand went to her tits and the other to her clit as
we fucked madly.

   Mom climaxed too and just lay there exhausted.  I withdrew my cock and
watched as the cum trickled from her anus and down across her bald pussy. I
moved around in front of her and she raised up and sucked my cock clean. 
We took a shower together and spent an hour in there cleaning each other
and I sucked on her sweet tits and ass again.

   Then one day it all changed.  while I was making love to my Mom, I
called out, "MOM oh mom, YES Mom",

   As soon as I said, Mom, she opened her eyes and let out a scream. 
"Aryan!  Get off me!"

   Only, I couldn't.  I had gone this far and I couldn't be denied.

   "Mom, I love you," I said trying to kiss her again with my cock still
buried in her pussy.  She turned her away and tried to push me off of her.

   "What are you doing!  Get off me!"

   "Fuck me Mom.  Fuck me.  Pretend I'm your husband.  I don't care.  Just
fuck me."

   "Aryan!  No!  This is wrong.  Get off me now," she said as her voice
faded and she started getting sexually excited again.

   "Kiss me, Mom."

   She wouldn't kiss me, but I turned her chin and planted one on her. 
Then, she wouldn't give me her tongue, but I forced my tongue in her mouth.
We were kissing, French kissing now.  We kissed again and again, as we
fucked.  Then, it happened.  She had an orgasm and another one, before I
exploded all that I had in her pussy.

   Finally, it was over.  I had my way with my mother.

   "How dare you?  How dare you?" she cried

   "I am sorry."

   She clutched at herself in a vain attempt to cover her nakedness.  The
shocked surprise that saddened her face made me realize that my mother was
back.  Oh, shit, I'll be grounded now for life for fucking my mother and
letting her blow me.

   "This can never happen again," she said sitting up and trying to get up
off the bed.

   "Mom!  You called me Aryan.  You're back."

   "Aryan," she said.  Then a realization came over her clouded face.  "I
really thought you were Azeem.  I miss him so much.  I'm sorry.  I'm so
sorry for what I've done to you.  It's not your fault.  I'm sorry and I'm
so very embarrassed."

   "Don't be embarrassed, Mom.  It's okay, Mom.  Really, it is.  I
understand.  I'm just so glad you're back.  Everything will alright now. 
You'll see."

   "this will never happen again, understand."

   From that day onward our relationship changed from incestuous to caring.
Looking back over what happened between us, I don't think of what we did as
something bad, nor do I think of it as sex.  I think of it as a son who
loved his mother and helped her through a bad time.  To be honest, and
maybe it's my justification for doing what I did, but I don't think my Mom
would have returned from the deep, dark place she was, had I not made love
to her.

   I brought her back.  When the doctors couldn't bring her back with all
their high priced medication, I brought her back with my love.  We have a
special bond because of what we survived as mother and son also.Only,
something very strange happened.  One day I saw mom sobbing,

   I had no idea what to say so I just held her and let her cry.  At some
point, I realized that her breasts were mashed to my chest and her thighs
pressed to mine.  I was mortified when I felt my cock start to fill with
blood.  In spite of how badly I felt, she was still my fantasy woman and I
just could not help myself.  As much I wanted to keep holding her, I knew
that in a minute she would feel my excitement.  I pushed her back and
kissed her lightly on the lips.  I could taste her tears and incredibly
that made my almost hard cock pulse.  I took her face in my hands and used
my thumbs to wipe away her tears.  Her eyes held mine and I was almost lost
in her eyes.  I hugged her again.  She buried her face in the fabric of my
shirt.  Again, I let her cry until I felt her tears soaking though my
shirt.

   "There is something that you should know." she said,

   I suddenly had this rush of dread.  I had no idea what she was going to
say but from the look on her face, I figured it couldn't be good.  "What?"
I asked.

   "Sit down," she said.

   I sat down quickly, staring at her, waiting.

   It took a few long moments before she spoke.  "I'm not sure how to tell
you this,"

   Now I was even more concerned.  "What's wrong, Mom?" I asked, almost on
the verge of tears myself.  Maybe cancer, I thought and felt my stomach
begin to churn.

   "Aryan," she said and paused again for what seemed an eternity.  Then
she took a deep breath and said, "I'm pregnant."

   Suddenly the room was totally silent.  I wasn't sure I had heard her
right.  "What?" I asked.

   "I'm two months pregnant."

   I heard it this time.  I almost fell out of my chair.  I stared at her
for several very long moments.  When I could respond I stuttered, "How ...
when ...  oh god, Mom...."

   She had tears streaming down her cheeks as she said; "You know it wasn't
your dad that got me pregnant."