Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Ped, incest, mother/son
   This text file contains sexually explicit material.  If you do not wish
to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS
FILE NOW!!!!
   It took my husband and I nine years to get pregnant.  Each of us had
medical interventions to get me pregnant.  The pregnancy was a breeze, and
the birth took 29 hours of hard labor.  Morgan made his presence known!  My
son grew to be a bright, sunny boy, smart, engaged, and so handsome, he
stopped my breath.  The years of his childhood were magical for the three
of us.  My husband and I drew the world in around us, the three of us. 
Morgan's IQ tested off the charts, so we put him in the one private school
in our town that really GOT smart kids.  That meant that each of us, my
husband and I, worked extra hours, as the tuition for Morgan's school was
nearly $20,000 each year.  It was worth it, though.  Morgan thrived.  At
fourteen, he was almost six feet tall, already very aware of girls,
involved in LaCrosse, drama, and jazz choir.  His dad, my beloved husband,
was a successful dentist, in private practice.  And, I own an art gallery.
   I was hanging a show, it was late on a Tuesday.  The back line to the
gallery rang, the number only Michael, my husband, and Morgan used.  I
answered it, imagining that one of my men would be asking when I'd be home
and if I needed any help.  Instead, it was Morgan, sobbing, hysterical.  I
only heard "Dad, accident, hospital," before I was out the door and
screaming down the road to St.  Joe's.  I got to emergency and my son flew
to me, "MOM!  They won't let me go in with DAD!" I grabbed his hand and
hollered "WHO THE HELL IS IN CHARGE?  MY HUSBAND, I NEED TO SEE HIM!" A
nurse ran to me and escorted us into the emergency room.  Michael was being
prepped for surgery.  They shoved a bunch of papers in front of me, and I
signed them.  Michael was cut and bloody and I had no idea what was wrong
with him.  He was unconscious.  They wheeled him away and Morgan and I were
instructed where to go to wait for him during surgery.
   I won't bore you with details.  My son and I clung to one another as
friends and family gathered.  We clung to one another as we stood at
Michael's bed and disconnected the life support so that time of death could
be called and his organs harvested.  We clung to one another at the
graveside as we bid farewell to our beloved Michael.
   Somehow, my son and I made it through each agonizing day since Michael's
death.  Somehow, I managed to go to Morgan's LaCrosse, plays, and jazz
concerts.  Somehow, we healed.  Michael's presence was never far from us.
Two years later, in the summer of Morgan's sixteenth year, I decided we
deserved a vacation.
   Morgan had an internship from early June to early August at Columbia's
biomedical sciences programs.  I was there on the last day to pick him up.
We drove north to Cape Ann, Massachusetts.  I've loved that little town as
long as I can remember.  The city fathers made a decision years ago to
allow NO chain businesses.  The city, as a result, is filled with small
businesses.  It's charming and quirky.  Galleries with a lot of
representational seascapes, much different than the Northwest contemporary
art that makes its way to my gallery.  But, art is art, and we have a moral
imperative to support art and the people who make it, so when Morgan and I
get home, we'll have a few new seascapes for our home.
   We rented a car when we got off the train in Boston, and I directed
Morgan, whose new driver license was burning a hole in his pocket, N on
I-95 then N on MA 128 to Rockport and to the Inn.  We parked, met the
innkeepers, and Morgan brought our bags inside.
   We had a ritual when we stayed at hotels.  We dumped the bags and jumped
on the beds.  This began when Morgan was a kid, very shy.  Michael and I
came up with a plethora of silly games to get Morgan to be more playful. 
Jumping on beds seemed to be one thing that he did with relish.  So, I
slipped off my shoes and jumped on the bed.  Morgan looked at me with
wonder.  "Mom!  What are you DOING?"
   "C'mon, Buddy, what are you waiting for?" I executed a somersault and
came up on my feet.
   "Mom!" Morgan looked seriously worried.
   I walked to the edge of the bed, put my hands on my son's shoulders and
said, "Hey, Morgan, you might have grown up, but I'm afraid I haven't. 
It's okay if you do..." I smiled at him and he slowly smiled then hugged
me, lifting me off the bed, holding me, then slowly sliding me down.  I'd
lose weight in the past couple of years, and I wasn't heavy to start.
   "God, Mom, there's nothing to you.  You need to EAT!" I'm afraid he was
correct.  Grief and high energy are not a good combination for keeping
weight on.
   "I know, honey.  I'm kind of a twig, aren't I?" He continued to hold me
and folded me into a long sweet hug.  I felt his strong arms around me and
for the first time ever, became aware of how strong and tall my son had
become.  I still saw him as a child, until that moment.  I pulled away from
him and looked.  Tousled blond/brown hair falling in his hazel eyes,
looking like the son had kissed it.  Freckles across his nose that drove
him crazy, just like his dad.  His button down shirt was untucked, his
jeans unbelted.  He looked like a model for GQ.  "Geez, Buddy, have I ever
told you how damned gorgeous you are?"
   "Ah, geez, ma, stop!" He blushed and I hugged him again, aware that I
did not want to let him go.  All the busy-ness of our lives, the frantic,
frenetic, manic energy of the last two years, both of us, trying to move so
fast, so far away from Michael's death, I just hadn't noticed my son.  As a
man.  As a boy, as my child, as someone who desperately needed my
protection?  Absolutely.  But here, now, in this moment, I felt his
overwhelming MALENESS.
   I felt my heart pound.  I clung to my son.  His protective instinct took
over as he felt me holding him.  He held me back, rocking us softly back
and forth.
   "Oh, Buddy, you grew up.  When I wasn't looking, you got to be a
beautiful, kind, wonderful man.  I'm so sorry I didn't notice.  I'm so
sorry..."
   "STOP, Mom!  You have NOTHING to be sorry for!  You're amazing.  You're
always there for me!" he said into my hair, which at that moment was
colored aubergine.  He tightened his hug and I felt my body mashed against
his.  I haven't ever worn a bra, as I have size A breasts.  My nipples are
large and very sensitive.  As my son pressed into me, I felt my nipples
tighten and I had to stifle a moan.
   I pushed away from Morgan and said, "Okay, Buddy, let's stow our gear
and go for a tour.  I can't wait to show you my favorite little soft shell
crab stand on the road to Gloucester!"  I was reeling from my body's
response, and wanted to get out of that room fast.
   "Let's put the top down on the Mustang, Buddy."
   "Oh, yea, Mom!" Morgan got behind the wheel and I showed him which way
to go.  I surprised myself by being able to navigate to the stand.  We got
soft shelled crab and a rasher of fries, and sodas.  We sat on the wood
benches under the wood awning and listened to the east coast accents.
   "I can't wait to hear more about your summer, baby.  Tell me what you
loved most about being in New York."
   Morgan looked at me and said, "You want to know what I most loved about
being in New York, mama?  I will tell you." My son hesitated, drank from
his soda, wiped his full lips with the back of his hand, and then looked at
me.
   Then, he turned red and jumped up and got in the car.  I dumped the
trash and followed him.  I slipped into the seat and put my hand on the
back of Morgan's seat.  He started to pull out and I didn't ask where we
were going, figuring that we'd just wander until we talked out whatever was
on his mind.
   The Mustang I rented was black with black leather interior.  Not,
perhaps, the most practical car, but definitely the sexiest.  In the summer
heat, we had the air conditioning going with the convertible roof up. 
Newly aware of my son's body, as he drove, I watched the muscle in his
thigh as he drove.  I felt my heart pounding and wondered what the hell I
was going to do.
   Morgan pulled off at a park and pulled the Mustang into a parking place.
He looked at me and stopped the engine, leaving the CD playing our favorite
Joe Satriani CD, a collection of his ballads called Beautiful Music.  It
was a CD to which Michael and I made love hundreds of times.  The fact that
his son also was transported by the music both hurt and made me smile. 
Morgan unhooked his seatbelt and moved to look at me.  "Mom, what I loved
most about being in New York was that I didn't hear you crying for dad at
night.  I loved that I could sleep in my bed and think about you, think
about making love to you without hearing you cry.  I love you mom.  I NEED
you, not like a son, but like a man.  And, for the first time in my life,
in New York, I could feel that stuff and not have to worry that you'd catch
me.  But I realized," he said all this in a rush.  I gasped and took his
hand, needing to anchor us.  He squeezed my hand hard, and hurried on, "I
realized that I HAD to tell you because I can't keep it a secret anymore,
especially now, on our vacation.  You can hate me, mom, and I'd understand.
But, I can't not tell you.  I'm so sorry, mommy, I'm so sorry.  I know I'm
fucked up.  I don't know why.  I just love you."
   I looked at Morgan with awe.  "Buddy, that was so brave of you.  I am so
glad that you told me, baby.  It's okay.  I'm not mad, you're not fucked
up. You are honest about a really huge thing that took so much guts to
confess.  And, baby, I'm so sorry that you heard me crying for your daddy.
I'm sorry my sadness messed you up, Morgan."
   I held his hand in both my hands then unhooked my seat belt and said,
"Let's walk, okay, Buddy?" We got out of the car and I walked around to
Morgan, looked up into his eyes, brushed the hair out of his face, and
hugged him hard.  He first held back, until I whispered, "Show me, baby. 
Show mama how you love me."
   He groaned and held me fast, burying his head in my shoulder, moving his
hands on my body.  I was aware suddenly of the extent of his body's
response and realized that the last place we needed to be just now was in a
public park.  "Plan B, Buddy.  Let's go." I walked quickly to the car and
when Morgan saw my intention to drive, he tossed the keys to me.  I smiled
at him.  I gunned the car out the park and screamed down the road, a huge
grin on my face.  Morgan looked at me and caught my grin.
   "Mom..."
   "Shhh, Buddy, let's talk when we get to the room."
   We pulled into the parking spot near the little clapboard cabin of the
inn.  I have been known to be a she-demon on wheels and I did send a fair
bit of gravel flying as I parked.
   I jumped out of the car, raced to the door, unlocked it and was waiting
for Morgan when he got inside.  "Okay, baby, now it's my turn.  Just this
morning, when you hugged me, just a couple of hours ago, I realized that
you had grown up.  Your body, your protectiveness, your whole self.  And,
you know what happened?  I felt a rush of desire for you.  I figured I'd
stuff it because that's not what moms are supposed to do with their sons.
But, then you said what you just said.  And now, here we are, baby." I
walked to my son, who stood near the door.  I closed the curtain on our
room.  Heart pounding out of my chest, I stood looking into my boy's
currently mystified face.
   There are those moments in life when we just have to dive in, damn the
repercussions.  My heart, my body, and my soul all screamed out to me to go
for it.  I pulled his face down to me and kissed my son.
   As soon as our lips met, Morgan was on fire.  He moaned into my mouth,
devouring me.  "Mom, what the...oh, God, mom, I need you so much," he said
as he slipped off my shirt and I pulled his off.  Fast work of shorts, my
son picked me up and kissed me, and we laid on the bed.  His body was lean
and defined, and my son's penis, throbbing inside it's foreskin, lay rigid
against his belly.  I grasped it, pulling the foreskin back, and softly
kissed the exposed corona.  Visions of his father danced in my mind, and I
fought to stay present.  He moaned, said, "God, mommy, that's so nice. 
Holy shit, I might cum!"
   I wanted to feel him inside me so much, I moved onto his belly, taking
that boy's penis all the way inside me in one motion.  I buried my son's
cock in my belly and sat on him, reveling in the moment.  I bent to kiss
him.  Morgan held my face in his hands and began to move inside me.  I let
him move, just wanting to feel him.
   "Cum if you want or need, baby.  Give your mom your gift.  As many times
as you want, baby.  Ooooh, so good."
   I moved against him, matching the rhythm he created.  I touched his
nipples, circling them with my fingers.  I clenched myself around his cock
and rode my boy.  The angle of his cock hit my g-spot with every thrust.  I
began riding him with purpose.  He leaned up and kissed my nipples, holding
me against him.  I grunted and rode faster still, driving myself into a
frenzy of pent up lust and need.  Morgan bucked into me, that delicious
boycock working its magic inside me.
   "Fuck your mama, baby, give it to me!" I pushed him down on the bed to
lengthen my strides on his cock, and pushed his arms onto the bed.  We
interlaced fingers as my orgasm began building.  "Okay, baby, I'm almost
there!  Oh, God, Morgan, it's so good!"
   "Yes, mama, oh, MAN, FUCK!"
   My trembling body bounced atop my boy, our pelvises bruising one another
as we ground one another.  My clitoris rubbed his belly as I rode him,
triggering a double orgasm in my sex-starved body.  I felt the surprsing
rush of a squirt between us and unleashed a pint of liquid on top of my
son. I was past words, simply grunting and clenching my teeth, as Morgan
yelled the onset of his release.
   "MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMAAAAA!" he yelled and we crashed together in
slowly ebbing waves of passion.  I rolled off my son's body and he held me,
burying his face in my hair.
   "Thank you, mama.  I didn't think that would ever happen.  You didn't do
it just for me, did you?"
   I held my son and rocked him.  "Did you sense that I was only doing that
for you, M?"
   "No, mom, I didn't.  I just had to ask.  I've spent so long thinking
about this, now it's real and I have a thousand questions."
   "It's okay, Morgan.  We have time for a lot of talkin', baby.  And," I
said, trailing my hand across his chest and down his taut and cum-slicked
belly, "we have a lot of time for doing a lot more than talkin'."
   
  
My Son, Morgan