Incest/Taboo The Grand Strategy

I had a lot to think about. Carol and Aunt Ellie had opened my eyes, expanded my horizons, and frankly, rattled my world. What was previously impossible and untouchable was possible and very touchable. Whether my ultimate goal, my burning desire, of making love to my Mother, Tammy, was possible was yet to be determined.

I don't want you to think I was looking at this whole thing as an exercise in ego, or some guy trying to see how many notches he could get on his belt. I had kind of fallen into making love with Carol through a brash and impetuous move, and had gotten with Aunt Ellie in a little more subtle way. I still had a lot to learn if I was going to get what I really wanted. I had to move carefully, though. The risks were high, and I knew if I miscalculated, I could lose a lot.

I did have a relatively fertile ground for further experimentation. I knew the Mothers of our gang all knew what we wanted and what we were doing, in our teen-ager clumsy way, when we would try to feel their butts. I had a close relationship with each of the Mothers. I knew they had talked about us, the boys in the gang, when we tried to come on to them.

So, who was left? There was Mary, Roger's Mom, and Bridget, Lars' Mom. Mary was the most like my Mother, so I thought she should be my last attempt before going for the brass ring. She would be my test ground, after I had learned all I could. I thought Mary was practically impossible so if I could go there, I could go anywhere, if you know what I mean.

That left Bridget. Whew. Bridget was, as I said before, movie star beautiful. She was a natural blond, had a face that could launch an armada, and a body to die for. Trim waist. Beautiful breasts. Bubble butt. You get the picture, I'm sure. There was more, though. When I say she was beautiful, I don't mean just small town beautiful. I mean, she could, literally, have been a movie star or a model, or anything that valued feminine beauty. When she walked into a room, and I'm not exaggerating, all conversation would stop and all eyes, men and women, would be on her. You could feel the lust. She must have been propositioned, in one way or another, by every red-blooded man and half the women she knew, so she would have seen it all and heard it all. I don't know if she had ever strayed, but she literally could have anyone she wanted - all she had to do would be to nod and smile. When I thought of her succumbing to my clumsy advances, I had to laugh.

To make it more daunting, Bridget's husband, Lars' father, was as handsome as she was beautiful. He had played football in college and had been a star. He could have played professional ball, I guess, but chose to go into advertising and sales instead. With his good looks, football fame, and intelligence he rose to the heights and was one of the most successful and wealthy men in the area. Yep. Bridget had it all. Sure, why wouldn't she risk it all for a roll in the hay with me? Ha.

But, as I say, I did have some built-in advantages, so why not give it a try? If I did it gently, what would be the risk? She knew I wanted her when I was a teen-ager. She knew me. She had wiped my snotty nose, picked me up when I fell, and who knows what can happen unless you try?

I hitched my pants up, gathered my courage, and drove to her house. When she opened the door and smiled at me, my courage fled. She was still radiantly beautiful. If anything, a little age had improved her. She had on a pair of jeans and a cashmere sweater, with her hair pulled back in a cute ponytail. "No way this is going anywhere," I thought, but I was there. What could I do?

"Billy! How good to see you. What have you been up to?" She invited me in, and we walked into the kitchen where she had been chopping vegetables at the counter.

I stammered. I was tongue-tied. Where with Carol I had considered myself suave and mature, with Bridget I reverted to the same shy and timid kid I had always been. "Hi, Bridget. I was wondering what was up with Lars and when he's coming home next. I hope I haven't bothered you. I guess I should be going now." Mentally I kicked myself. "...I should be going now?" Where the hell had that come from? Dammit.

"Oh, don't go, Bill. Stay and have a cup of coffee with me. We'll catch up. How's Tammy? I have not seen her for weeks. I sometimes bump into her at the grocery store, but I guess we're on different schedules now."

"You know what, Bridget? A cup of your coffee sounds pretty good. Set 'em up, Bartender!" That got a laugh out of her, so I was back on somewhat more comfortable ground. A wise man once said about women, "If you can make them laugh, you're halfway there."

"Oh, Bill. That's funny. That reminds me of the first time you boys got into Roger's dad's beer? God. A bunch of goofy, sloppy, drunk 19 year olds. Lars puked his guts out. Do you remember that?"

I laughed, too. "Bridget, there are few life lessons I remember better than that one. I thought I was going to die."

That broke the ice, and we started recounting our favorite memories. She'd tell one, then I'd tell one, and we'd laugh and laugh. When she laughed, I'm surprised the entire universe didn't stop. Her perfect teeth. Her throaty laugh. How could anything compete with that?

My mind was working furiously. I knew Bridget had heard every clever come-on line ever uttered, and would have a defense for each one because she had countered each one before. She was like that insurance commercial: "We know a lot because we've seen a lot." She was unattainable. Well, let's amend that. She was unattainable as long as I played on her home field. Give her the home team advantage of hitting on her with something she's heard before, and as I say I'm sure she had heard them all, and she'd shoot me down. For this to work, I would have to shake her confidence. Like football, I'd have to show her a play she'd never seen before, and for which she had no practiced defense.

But how to shake the confidence of a woman like that? She was supremely self-confident because she had an entire life of wrapping everyone she met, man and woman, around her finger. She was used to getting what she wanted, and giving up only what she wanted. She was used to being in charge.

I came up with something, and thought I'd put it out there and see how it developed. After laughing at one of our antics, I looked at Bridget and said, "Bridget, I want to thank you for never telling anyone about that time I walked into your bedroom and you were standing there with no blouse on."

OK. Call me a cad. That had never happened. I made it up on the fly, but I had to get something out there that would put her off-balance, and that's all I could think of.

"What?!," she practically screamed. "Bill, what are you talking about? You came in my bedroom and saw me undressed? When did that happen?"

"Oh, good Lord," I replied, and kind of hung my head. "You mean you never knew? I thought you saw me for sure. I shouldn't have said anything."

"Now you have to tell me, Bill. What?"

I was making it up on the fly, as I said, but my mind had always been ripe with fantasies about Bridget, so describing one was not that difficult. "Well, we were playing games downstairs and I had to use the bathroom. Roger was in the one downstairs, so I went upstairs. I just ran into your bedroom, not knowing you were in there. You were in the bathroom at the sink, and you didn't have a blouse or bra on. You were looking at yourself in the mirror. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I was frozen for a minute, then I thought you saw me and I ran out. I expected you to come downstairs to chew me out, but you never did. I appreciated that, Bridget, but now you say you didn't see me after all?"

She laughed. "Oh, no, Bill. I didn't see you. I'm surprised you didn't turn into stone on the spot."

"Well. Part of me did, Bridget." She gave a little laugh at that, and shook her head.

"Did you ever tell anyone, Bill? Tell me the truth, now."

Now where do I go? I had her a little off-balance, but she was still in charge here. What would shake her? "I only told Lars, Bridget. With the way he felt about you, I figured he deserved that."

"You told Lars? Why would you tell Lars?" Her voice cracked a little bit, her hands were shaking, and she seemed hesitant. It might have been working, so I pushed on.

"Bridget, Lars wanted to make love to you in the worst way. When I told him, he ran Roger out of the bathroom and rushed in so he could masturbate over you. At least I waited until I got home that night." Now it was out there. I had over-stepped the bounds of joking and normal Friend's Mother banter.

"Lars? Oh, my God. That's creepy. That's wrong. That's perverted." She seemed on the verge of tears, and I couldn't tell if she was mad or creeped out, or what. But I pushed on. Now was no time to be timid.

"Bridget, get real. Everyone of us wanted you, but Lars more than anyone. He was obsessed with you. Hell, he's still obsessed with you."

She stood up, went to get another cup of coffee for both of us, and her hands were visibly shaking as she poured it. "I don't know what to say. He still does?" She sat down again at the kitchen table, looked down, and said nothing. Maybe I had pushed it too far, too soon. I was on the precipice, and if she got really mad, called me a pervert, and called my Mom, everything was over. I couldn't let that happen.

I stood up and moved to stand beside her as she was sitting. I put my arm around her shoulders and in a firm voice said, "Bridget! What did you think? What do you think? Lars is a man, just like every other man, but he has to live with you and see you and want you, without any hope of ever having you."

She started crying. "I'm a terrible Mother. How could this be? What am I going to do?"

Oh, no. Crying. The ultimate weapon a woman has. Now, what? I had several options. I could run out the door and drive to Saskatchewan, or someplace like that. I could comfort her and try to talk her off the ledge. Or, I could take a firm hand. I suspected Bridget was used to men approaching her as supplicants. I doubt many men had ever taken a firm hand with her. I was uncomfortable in that role - it just wasn't me - but those were the cards I had dealt myself.

"I should never have told you, Bridget, but that's on me." I spoke firmly with a bit of a harsh tone. I didn't know how to do it, so I envisioned a stern father giving her an ultimatum. "Here is what we are going to do, Bridget. You are not going to tell anyone about this. It is our secret, and you can count on me to keep it. I'm going to give you a couple of days to think about this, and what you've done to tease Lars and me, and I'll be back on Wednesday to talk about how to fix it. Don't worry. I'll help you fix it."

Damned if it didn't work. She quit crying, and kind of snuffling, she looked up at me. "I'll do anything to fix it, Bill. Just tell me what to do."

I bent down and kissed the top of her head. The smell of her hair was overwhelming, and I wanted to go for it right then, but I didn't. Patience. "It's not the end of the world, Bridget. It's normal, and you know it. Now don't say anything to anyone, and I'll see you on Wednesday. I'll come at noon, and I'll bring lunch for us. Now, what would you like?"

"I don't know. Just anything. Maybe a cob salad from the deli at the grocers?"

Cha Ching! She had bought into it. I was in charge, at least for now. I left as gracefully as I could and drove away, with her standing in the doorway watching me go.

The next two days were torture. I expected an angry call from my Mom. I expected an angry call from Bridget. I expected an angry call from the FBI. I thought about where I was, though, with Bridget. As I said, she was accustomed to every man and woman who wanted her to be a beggar. "Oh, please, Bridget. Give it to me, please." She was probably not accustomed to someone taking charge, being dominant over her. I'm not into the whole BDSM thing, wouldn't know a dom from a sub from a cat, so I was on strange ground, too. I didn't know if Bridget was into that, either. I hoped not. That just wasn't my thing and I didn't think it ever would be.

Thinking about Bridget made me...well...think about Bridget. She was different from the other Moms. Kind of one-dimensional, if you know what I mean.

Think about Carol, and you thought, "Bright. Bubbly. Clever and fun."

Think about Aunt Ellie, and you thought, "Warm. Loving. Nurturing."

Think about Mary, and you thought, "Ultimate soccer Mom who can juggle ten balls while kicking two more through the goalposts, and still look great and always make it look easy."

Think about my Mom, Tammy, and you thought, "Get it done. No nonsense. Ultimate achiever at everything she does."

Think about Bridget, and you thought, "Pretty." That was it. Her beauty was her strength, but I think it was also her weakness. She had never developed past being the prettiest girl in the school. I think she was plenty smart, but she never had to be smart, if you know what I mean. She was pretty. I don't want to sound sexist, because that's not how I mean it, but we all tend to play to our strengths and Bridget's strength, her beauty, was so overwhelming that she never had to develop other strengths.

I knew I had messed it up with Bridget. I went in nervous, tried to develop something before the time was right, and screwed everything up. What had worked exceedingly well with Carol had bombed with Bridget. Lesson learned. I resigned myself to never getting anywhere with Bridget, but then I guess I never expected to. Now I was just going to try and fix it. Remember the old physicians' mantra, "First, do no harm?" I feared I had done harm. Bridget would never look at me the same again. I could accept that, but I didn't want to leave her relationship with Lars screwed up. Lars was my buddy.

On Wednesday at noon I showed up to Bridget's house with our salads. I really didn't know what to expect when I walked to the door. I didn't know if it would be answered by an irate husband or if it would be answered at all. To my surprise the door opened before I even rang the doorbell; Bridget had been waiting for me. She looked, again, radiant. She had put makeup on, her shoulder length hair was brushed out, and she wore a pretty flowered dress. She had obviously prepared herself for me. Was it to regain the high ground by emphasizing her strength - her beauty - or was it for me? Hmmm.

She was a little subdued, and I didn't have to wonder why. I had laid a heavy load on her shoulders.

We went into the kitchen, and sat at the table to eat our salads. She got right to the subject at hand. "Bill, I know I got upset with you the other day, and I'm sorry. That just came from nowhere, what you told me, and I didn't know how to handle it. I hope you're not mad."

"I hope you're not mad?," I thought. Me, mad? She's the one who should be mad. But maybe I did have some upper hand left. She was hoping I wasn't mad.

So I didn't revert to the usual role of supplicant, but took charge. "Bridget, of course I'm not mad at you. I love you. You've always been a major force in my life. I just want you to know that there's nothing creepy or wrong that we've talked about. It's absolutely normal. I'm just a little surprised you didn't know." I purposely didn't address "it" directly, but alluded to "it" and let her mind fill in the rest. She knew what I was talking about.

"Of course I knew Lars went through his phase. All you boys went through your phase. I thought it was a passing thing, though. That's what all the self-help people say."

So she had done some reading on it, either when we were teen-agers or in the last couple of days. "The self-help people are wrong, Bridget. Men never get over it. We never get over wanting our Mothers. There's nothing wrong about that. We love you when we're children. When we become men, love for a woman necessarily involves sex, and that's what confuses everything. We want to love our Mothers as we always have, but our Mothers are beautiful women and we are men, and the whole sex thing just confuses everybody. I think what messes us up is not that we want our Mothers in that way, but that we try to deny it."

She sighed. "I know. Don't you think we have the same problems?"

Ah, ha! If I had thought before I was just trying to fix things the best I could and beat a hasty retreat, I put that aside. She had just admitted she had sexual feelings for Lars, too. I didn't know if that translated into sexual feelings for me, but it was worth exploring. "Bridget, I think that's a healthy start. Mother Son love is the strongest love on earth. I don't think adding a physical component could do anything but make it stronger, as long as everyone keeps things in perspective. The key is that no one else can ever know."

I had taken the role of confident counselor, when I felt anything but.

"What should I do? I don't want to mess Lars up psychologically."

"Of course not. I have not talked with him about this in a long time, but I know how much he always wanted you. I know exactly how he wanted to make love to you. We were teen-aged boys, you know, and sex was all we had to talk about."

"He talked about what he wanted to do with me?"

Our eyes were fixed on each other. I could see a rising in the color in her cheeks. Her lips were slightly parted. Her eyes were dilated. This woman was getting hot.

"Oh, yeah, Bridget. Because I had seen you, he and I had a special secret, and we shared everything."

"Oh," she said in a faltering way.

OK. As I said, in for a penny, in for a pound. "He wants (I purposely said "wants" and not "wanted") to suck those beautiful breasts and kiss down your body."

She jerked. It was an involuntary response. "Oh," she said again. She looked down at her hands. She was breathing deeply.

"He wants to see your hand, Bridget, as you hold him in it." I wasn't ready to tell her yet that I wanted, and yes it was about me as I told her about Lars, to see her mouth on my dick. Not yet. I'd get there, but not yet. She did seem to be getting into the dirty talk, though, so I pushed on.

"Bridget, he dreams of getting you undressed, of seeing the passion on your face when you know what's going to happen, that it's inevitable. That it's destined. That there's nothing you can do about it, but let it happen because it's what you want, too."

She said nothing. I didn't know where to go with this. I waited her out. People hate a silence in the conversation and will always say something to fill it, and I knew her next words would be telling.

"What if he's disappointed?"

I laughed. I couldn't help it. "Disappointed?" I figured it was time to go for it, so I did. "Your hand on his dick, and you think he'll be disappointed?"

She looked up at me, and there was fire in her eyes. I thought I had taken that a step too far, but she didn't say anything. Just looked at me.

I stood up and moved to her side. I stroked her hair, and she laid her head against my stomach. I whispered, "Disappointed, Bridget?" I bent down and kissed her head. She said nothing, so I bent farther and kissed her cheek. "Disappointed, Bridget?" I gently kissed her on the lips, and her own lips parted slightly. I gently sucked her lower lip, licked it, and then slightly probed her mouth with my tongue. She was hesitant at first, letting me take the lead, but then, finally, she responded with her own tongue.

I fell to my knees. I hugged her waist, putting my head in her lap. I kissed her dress over her stomach, and pressed my face into her. She took my head, and pushed my face into her belly. We stayed like that for a moment while she stroked my hair. "Oh, Billy. What are you doing to me?"

I didn't tell her I was doing my best to fuck her. I stood up and kissed her lips again, and she responded eagerly. I took her hand and, without saying a word, led her up the stairs. I turned toward her bedroom, and she said, "No. Not there. Come in here," and she led me into Lars' room.

We stood at the bed, kissing and hugging, and I slipped my hands down to that rounded ass of hers. I pulled her into me, pushing my dick against her. I figured she liked my taking the initiative, so I took her hand and put it on my dick. She squeezed it, and said, "Billy. I'm afraid."

She was afraid? I was terrified. I feared that at any minute she would come to her senses, slap me, and run screaming. I reached behind her, and slowly slid the zipper of her dress down her back. I stepped back, she shrugged the dress off her shoulders, and there she stood in just her bra and panties. They were purple. I don't know why that matters, but the image is branded in my brain. They were purple.

I stepped to her, kissed her again, and reached behind to release her bra. Still holding her, I slid it off her shoulders and it fell down, caught between us. I couldn't wait. I stepped back, letting the bra fall to the floor, and there were those tits. Full. Turgid nipples. Light brown areola. I leaned forward and kissed her left nipple, and she trembled. Again, "I'm afraid, Billy."

"Honey, there's nothing to be afraid of. I will never do anything to hurt you. This will always be our secret." I turned her, pushed gently, and she sat on the bed. She crossed her arms over her breasts, and I gently pulled them away. "No, Bridget. Let me see them." I still hadn't sucked those beauties, but I had something else on my mind. I pulled her panties off and dramatically threw them over my shoulder. She laughed. That was good.

I fell to my knees and buried my face in her pussy. She was, I can report, a natural blond. I had never seen such a blond pussy. It had kind of a strong smell, but not unpleasant. I used every trick I thought I knew, because I wanted my pussy eating to be the best pussy eating she had ever had. Fingers in her pussy, working away, while I sucked her clit. She was responding, but not the way I wanted. She lay back onto the bed, still with her legs hanging over, and I moved a finger to her ass. She jerked a little bit, but didn't give me the response I wanted.

I stood up, took my clothes off while she watched me, and moved her over so I could lay down beside her. I sucked her breasts, and took her hand to put it on my dick. She gave a few strokes to it, and I could tell she was sizing it with her fingers. I don't know how I compared to her football player husband.

After sucking her breasts for awhile I rolled to my back and put my hand on her head, giving a little pressure. "Let me see that beautiful face on my dick, Bridget. Let me see it."

She moved down, still with my dick in her right hand, and bent to kiss it. She rubbed the head of it against her cheek while she looked up at me, and I pushed with my hand again. She opened her lips and took me into her mouth. She sealed her lips against the shaft of my dick and blew. She blew. She just blew and was motionless.

She blew? That didn't do anything for me. Then I realized. Beautiful Bridget did not know how to give a blow job. Beautiful Bridget was so used to men being awed by her beauty that she did not have to make love to them - they made love to her.

"Bridget, Honey. Blow job is what we call it, but it's really suck. Suck me, Baby. Suck my dick."

She started to suck me, but I have had 19-year-old virgins give a better blow job. I moaned. I praised her. "Oh, Baby. That's the best I've ever had." But it wasn't. It was average, at best.

I pulled her back up and pushed her onto her back. I mounted and waited for her to guide me in. She didn't. I finally reached down, took my dick, and placed it the the entrance of her pussy. I slowly slid into her while I looked in her eyes.

I fucked Bridget. She just laid there. I know she was kind of enjoying it because she moaned from time to time, but she was being fucked, and not fucking me. I could tell, this was going to be a work in progress.

I pulled out, rolled to my back, and pulled her on top. She knew what to do, and quickly slid me into her, then started a rhythmic rocking on my dick. I reached between us and twiddled her clit while she fucked me, and then, finally, she started to get into it. I grabbed her ass with both hands, pulling her onto me as I pumped up into her. I reached my right hand around her ass, and put my finger on her brown rosebud. That got a response, and her passion seemed to mount. I didn't lube my finger, but put increasing pressure against her ass and it slid right in.

That was the key to Bridget. She took on the intensity I had been waiting for, and started fucking in earnest. I fucked up against her, working that ass with my finger, and she shuddered a little bit. Did she come? I couldn't tell, but if that was it, it wasn't much.

She rolled off me and laid on her side, facing me. "Oh, Billy. What have we done?"

"I don't know about you, Bridget, but I've just fucked the woman I've wanted all my life. But we're not done yet, Baby."

She looked at me shyly. "You like my little butt, don't you?"

"Oh, yeah. I think you could say that."

Again with the shy little girl act, she said softly, "I do, too. I had forgotten how I like it so much."

Whoo hoo! "Do you have any lube, Bridget?"

She jumped up. "I think so, but I hope it hasn't dried up." She ran into her bedroom.

Are you kidding me? Her husband had never taught her how to give a good blowjob? He wasn't fucking that ass at every opportunity?

She came back with the lube and gave it to me, then plopped on her belly, pushing her ass up a bit. "Now," I thought, "we're getting somewhere." I squeezed a lot of it into my hand, and put it on her ass. I rubbed around her ass, slipping my finger in and out, and she hunched up against my hand. When I thought I had her loose enough, I squeezed a generous amount on the head of my dick and placed it against her tight little hole.

"Go slow," she said. "It's been awhile."

I did. I slowly pushed in while she pushed up against me, and my dick slid into her ass up to the base. I slowly started in and out movements, and she moaned, loudly this time. I reached under her with my right hand and manipulated her clit while I fucked her ass. She came like a freight train, writhing under me and screaming. This time there was no doubt whether she had come or not. People in the next county probably knew. I had never had a woman scream when she came, but Bridget did.

And then the pillow talk began. Bridget said she didn't have sex much anymore. She said as she had aged (and she didn't look like it at all) that she didn't need it as much anymore, and since her husband travelled so much they never seemed to get around to it. I told her she seemed to me to have needed it, and I would always be available. She hugged and kissed me. "We'll see, Bill, but you have to understand how dangerous this is."

She had taken me into Lars' room to do it, and I figured that meant something.

"You know, Bridget, there is one person who wants you more than even I do, and no one would ever suspect you two were lovers. He'd be perfectly safe."

I may have thought Bridget was one-dimensional, but she knew immediately what, and who, I was talking about. "Bill, I just don't think I could ever do that. I've always tried to be a perfect Mother for Lars, and I couldn't do anything to lessen his opinion of me as a Mother."

"But what if that's what he really wanted? What if he took the first steps?"

She chuckled a bit. "I can't see him doing that. He's afraid of me. Most men are afraid of me."

"I was afraid of you, Bridget, and look where we are."

"Yes, but Bill, you took charge. I liked that. It was not what I expected of you. You were always the shy one. But you took charge and, I have to admit, when a man is confident and takes charge, I've always had a hard time saying no."

"Well. I won't say anything to Lars, of course, but I know how much he wants this with you, so don't be surprised if he goes for it someday."

"Oh, I'll be surprised, Billy. I just can't see Lars doing that."

"But would you like it? Have you never thought of doing this with Lars?"

"Of course I've thought about it. Like every Mother, I tried not to think about it, but when you boys become men, you spread testosterone like a lawn service. It's not something any Mother ever does with her son, though. It's wrong."

"Oh, Bridget," I sighed. "Mothers and Sons have been making love for the history of humans. I read just the other day that one in 33 women in America have had some sort of sexual contact with their sons. It happens every day. It's just that no one talks about it. I'm not talking about under-aged sex. I'm talking about two consenting adults who naturally love each other."

She sighed, and said nothing, but I knew I had planted a seed for old Lars.

We made love again, and this time it had more intensity. She loved it in the ass, but we had to go gently because she was getting sore. She developed her blow job skills, and by the time I left she had reached pretty high in my scale of blow jobs. She got into it, and I realized how much potential beautiful Bridget had. The man who could get her to fuck him, instead of laying there and letting him fuck her, would be a lucky man, indeed. It was there. It just had to be cultivated.

When I left, I tried to get her to agree to see me again. "I don't know, Bill. That was beautiful and I love you for it, but let's just play it by ear. We're on pretty dangerous ground here, aren't we? You wouldn't have a lot to lose, but I could lose everything."

And that's how we left it. I wanted another go with Bridget, just to see how I could help her improve her performance, but I didn't know if it was going to happen. I did know that if Lars was still interested, and I thought he was, the field was wide open for him.

What did I learn from Bridget?

First, don't be so sure you've failed, even if you seem to have made a total botch of it. Planting a seed and letting it grow may pay dividends. That first day, if I had continued to push with Bridget, I think I would have gone home with my hat in my hand. But I let her think about it, and she convinced herself.

Second, some women like for the man to take charge. They don't want to be the aggressor, but want the man to make the first move. Especially with Mothers, what Bridget said to me spoke volumes: "I can't see him doing that. He's afraid of me..." What was unspoken was what she would do if he did take the first steps. I think I knew the answer.

Third, some women have to be shocked out of their comfort zone. They have had a lifetime of handling situations in which they have experience and comfort. Move them out of the comfort zone and things can develop.

Fourth, and this was just a life lesson in general, the most beautiful women may not be the best lovers. It's like the big-breasted girl in high school who never had to develop a pleasing personality because boys flocked around her for her tits, and not her personality.

Last, while women may think they don't need sex as much as they age, it just ain't true, given the right circumstances.

But did this get me any closer to Mom? I didn't see how, but I'd work at it.

The next day I went home to see Mom at lunch. She was really happy to have me drop in like that, and hugged me tightly. I was hard as a rock, and this time I didn't hold my dick back to keep her from feeling it. I hugged her back, and pulled her in so she could feel it, so she had to feel it against her belly. She didn't say anything, of course, and I don't know if she knew I was hard or not. As she released the hug, I reached up to cup her face with my hands and kissed her right on the lips. No tongue or anything, but just a kiss on the lips.

She pulled back with a look of surprise and asked, "Wow. What's gotten into you lately?"

I laughed. "You. That's what's gotten into me," and I walked into the kitchen. She stood there for a moment, and then joined me. The rest of my visit was just normal Mom-Son stuff, but I knew I had given her something to think about.​