Incest/Taboo The Mom Memories: Colin's Story

Hi. Colin here. So I'm going to tell you about my Mom and I. She was quite a bit younger than my Dad, being his second wife. He had two kids with his first wife. They divorced because of his affair with my Mom. I wasn't supposed to know that but my older half sister told me about it. Mom was eighteen years younger than Dad. She was forty-three now and still working though my Dad had retired at sixty. He spent more and more time away fishing with his buddies in their campers.

Mom had short, brown hair with a pretty face. She was slender but not muscular since she never exercised, at least, not that I'd ever seen. Her arms were soft and white, with a few freckles sprinkled about, like her face. Her legs, as I found out, were quite nice. Not like the sculptured stems you seen in magazines, or on some of the more buff girls at school, but nicely shaped even so.

This I discovered when Mom dug out some old dresses she hadn't worn for years. Dad had buggered off a few days earlier on yet another camping trip with his friends as soon the warm weather hit. A few days later, in the heat, Mom complained about not having anything to wear, and the prices of clothes these days. With Dad being retired, we were OK but not as pat as we had been, which is why Mom still worked.

Anyway, I came home from school to find her sitting on a lawn chair in a sundress that was shorter than her normal dresses, riding several inches above the knee. This was the first time I noticed her thighs, which were normally covered but were now exposed half way up because of the way she was sitting. I particularly noted how the fleshy part underneath her leg bulged out.

"Hey Mom," I greeted her as I walked through the screen door into the backyard.

"Hiya," she answered, continuing to read her magazine.

"New dress?" I queried.

"Oh," she put her magazine down, "just something I pulled out of storage. I've got boxes of these in the attic."

"Well, it's a good thing you're working on your tan, because you'll have white parts showing for awhile," I remarked, still focusing on the fleshy part of her thighs I hadn't seen before.

"Don't worry, you brat," she laughed, lowering her magazine, "I won't embarrass you. I'll only wear them around the house."

I couldn't help notice that the sundress was cut lower in front. Not plunging. It was a square cut but it showed the tops of Mom's small breasts which were very white of course. Mom noticed my gaze and followed it down to look at herself.

"I'll get tanned soon enough so you won't hurt your eyes, smarty pants," she laughed again. "Why don't you make dinner tonight so I can work on my tan?"

She was quite pleased when I agreed to this. Over dinner, I asked her about the boxes of clothes she'd discovered. Evidently they were just old clothes she used to wear and had kept. She intended wearing a new outfit everyday, just for the fun of it, and to stretch her wardrobe out which was in dire need of expansion. Long after dinner, while I was watching a movie, Mom wandered up the hall from her bedroom wearing a strange outfit.

"What do you think of this?" she asked, smiling and doing a slow twirl in front of the TV. She was wearing a lime green pantsuit, or more of a one piece jumpsuit. It had a hole over her tummy, swept in a cross over her breasts behind and around her neck, leaving her entire back bare. "Isn't it wild? Can you believe we used to wear things like this?"

She struck various poses, laughing, then plopped down on the couch beside me after I agreed it looked pretty weird.

"What are you watching?" she asked, suddenly ignoring her costume. I told her what had happened and she settled in to watch it with me.

During one set of commercials, when Mom got up to make some hot chocolate, I paid a little closer attention to her outfit. As she stood and walked away, I noticed that her butt seemed more clearly defined. This observation floated in my mind without me really grasping it while I listened to her in the kitchen. Then it dawned on me. She wasn't wearing anything underneath. There were no discernible panty lines, no tightening and battening down of carelessly moving parts. I had actually seen the independent action of each cheek as she walked away. I felt a familiar stirring, although one that had never been associated with my mother.

"It's on," I called as the movie started. I glanced up from the movie as she walked slowly back in the room, treading carefully so as not to spill either of the two large mugs she was carrying. Since she was looking down, keeping a careful eye on her payload, I had the opportunity to scrutinize her closely. I couldn't see any pantyline from the front either and though I couldn't see her belly because of the mugs, I could see the nipples of her breasts which were never visible. She couldn't be wearing a bra. Of course not, dimwit, I thought. Her back was bare.

"Here, sweetie," she handed me one of the mugs and carefully sat down beside me again, but a little closer. We watched the movie while we sipped our hot chocolates. Mom drank hers faster than I since I was either sneaking glances at her, or thinking about her instead of the movie. When she leaned forward to set her cup on the coffee table the front of her outfit, held to her only by the loop around her neck, gapped forward allowing a peak at the sides of her breasts. There was no doubt about it, she wasn't wearing a bra and there wasn't anything built into it to hold her breasts from falling against the thin material.

When the next set of commercials started, Mom commented on how well the hot chocolate had 'Hit the spot' and asked me if I wanted more.

"No," I replied, and quickly added, "Here, have mine. I don't really want it," to dissuade her leaving. I wanted her to stay next to me.

"Are you sure," she asked, settling back down.

"Absolutely," I assured her, handing the mug to her.

"No, leave it there," she said, indicating that I should leave it on the end table. Disappointed, I set it back down. Now there was no reason for her to lean forward, no opportunity for me to glimpse the side of her bare tit through the gap in her suit.

"Oh, I'm so stiff," she groaned as soon as she sat down, stretching her arms up and leaning forward until her hands rested on the edge of the table, then pushing them further into the middle.

Wonderful. Her outfit gapped wider than it had when she had reached for her mug. I could now see more than just the side of her tit, I could see the top sloping down almost to where her nipple must be. I could feel my cock swell. Unconsciously, as she started to pull back, I stretched my hand out to rest it on her back, blocking her retreat. Belatedly realizing the how blatant my action was, I moved my hand across her shoulders, brushing my fingers lightly across her back. She instantly relaxed, leaning forward again.

"Oh, that feel's good," she sighed. Encouraged and relieved that my action wasn't seen for what it was, I continued, tickling her upper back with my fingertips. She shuddered and shivered as if I was touching very sensitive parts though I was just tracing her shoulder blades. "Oh, that's lovely," she cried softly.

"Your father used to do this for me," she mentioned a moment later, "for ages, a long time ago."

"Don't stop," she added as I paused, digesting this hint of intimacy between her and my father, something I couldn't remember witnessing. I continued tickling her back as the movie started. She didn't look up to watch. I brought my other hand into play and let my brushing fingers caress more than tickle.

When the commercials started again, Mom leaned back, collapsing against the couch, and me, nestling against my side. "Oh god that felt great," she sighed. "Thank you."

"Anytime," I answered.

She looked up and smiled. "Can I have some of your hot chocolate now?"

I picked up the mug and handed it to her.

"No, you do it. My arms are too relaxed."

I held the cup gingerly to her lips. Not because it was hot -- it was surely cold by now -- but because I was suddenly nervous for some reason. She opened her lips and I tipped some in, careful not to spill. I tipped it several more times until she shook her head slightly and then I set it back down. As I twisted back toward her, she asked, "Will you do my back some more?"

"Sure," I replied, like it was no big deal. Mom stretched her feet out on the couch and, turning on her stomach, lay her head in my lap. Oh no! She was sure to feel my bulging crotch. Not to brag, but how could she not notice laying right on it? What would she think of me?

"Go ahead, sweetheart," came the quiet response, "don't wait for the movie."

I started again, using my left hand to lightly brush across her shoulders. As the movie progressed, I again brought my other hand into play, moving my left lower on her back to make room. Mom didn't make a sound except for the odd sharp intake of breath as I struck a sensitive part, which seemed to be a different spot every time. Soon I was straying farther and farther, dipping into her sides, running my fingers along her waist up to the sides of her breasts, eventually letting them press her flesh where it squished against the couch.

"Dad use to get frisky like that."

Her voice startled me. I stopped, my hands freezing to her skin. "Don't stop," she instructed. I continued, slowly regaining my 'frisky' ground as I realized she wasn't mad. I caressed her right through the next set of commercials. Suddenly, she raised her head. "What's up with the movie?" she asked, but not seeming to expect an answer. Her body shifted as she craned to see the TV and when she settled back down her head was farther up my lap, squarely over my cock which was definitely hard.

The shift caused her to lay more on her side now, allowing deeper access to her left side. I began stroking her as soon as she lay her head back in my lap along the line of my previous boundary and even straying beyond now that I had access. Except now there was no physical restraint. I could have slipped my hand right in and taken actual possession of her breast. I wasn't sure how far I could go, so I proceeded cautiously. But I did venture further. I moved my right hand up to pull her hair back and caress the top of her shoulder, sliding down into the hollow of her neck. I let my fingers stray down the front of her shoulder under the material of her outfit. My left hand moved up and down her side, slowly, but only along the side of her breast, my fingers rubbing over her swelling flesh.

Mom never gave any sign that I was doing anything wrong so I continued stroking the side of her breast until the movie ended while the fingers of my right hand stretched down from her shoulder to reach onto the swell at the top of her breast. When the movie ended, she pushed herself up and kissed me on my cheek.

"A little frisky, like your Dad used to be, aren't you?" she remarked, and then kissed my cheek a few more times, her lips seeming to stick a longer each time. "That was nice, honey. Thank you. Now it's time for bed."

As she stood, I blurted out, "I'll tickle your back for you again, Mom."

"Really?" she asked in a surprised tone of voice. "Be careful, I'll want you to do it every night."

"I don't mind," I rushed my assurance.

Mom just smiled, not her usual kind of smile. There was something different about it. I watched her walk away, marveling at the distinctive pout each cheek made as her feet took turns hitting the floor. I hoped every outfit was like that one.

That night I wanked myself silly. Drifting off to sleep, I wondered about what had transpired. Mom had almost let me cop a feel, and made no bones about it. Amazing!

The next day, Mom wore an almost schoolgirl looking outfit -- a simple white blouse with a plaid, kilt type skirt. The skirt showed her legs well enough, almost to mid-thigh level, but the blouse was a thick, cotton starchy looking affair. Not revealing at all. My disappointment was quickly supplanted by interest in the views the kilt offered when the it split to reveal her upper legs. And though the thick plaid material didn't reveal the contours of her behind, my memory of the distinctive features of those supple globes was sufficiently fresh from the evening before to trigger my imagination each time I had the opportunity to ogle her when she was walking away from me.

So I accepted what I was offered and enjoyed watching her throughout the day. I hoped the opportunity would arise to 'tickle' her back again, and that she would change into a more revealing and accessible outfit like she had the night before. But I was disappointed. Mom didn't change and, though she joined me to watch TV after dinner, she didn't ask me to tickle her back, or give any indication that she wanted me to.

Scanning the online channel guide just before nine o' clock when she seemed restless and about to head for bed, I selected a chick flick I knew she'd like rather than one of the available actioners. Seeing my selection, Mom seemed to settle in to stay.

"I'll watch that with you," she said. "Would you like me to make some hot chocolate?"

"Sure Mom," I answered appreciatively, and then, as if trading favors, offered in return, "I could tickle your back for you if you like."

"Oh, that would be nice. But you don't have to. I know it was a long time last night. Are you sure?"

"Yeah Mom. I don't mind at all. It's actually kind of relaxing."

"Great."

By the time the movie started, Mom had returned with two mugs of hot chocolate and sat next to me on the couch. We sipped our cocoas through the first act, Mom intent on the movie while I was intent on the pressure of her thigh against mine. She rested her right arm on the couch behind me and absently toyed with my hair, like she did when I was little. When she finished her hot chocolate, I offered her mine, placing it to her lips for a sip. I didn't drink any more but kept raising it to her mouth. I toyed with the notion of spilling some on her starchy white blouse so she might change it but chickened out in case it made her angry.

When the mug was empty, I set it down and wiped the traces of chocolate from the corners of her mouth with my fingers. She continued to watch the movie, not reacting at all, as if it was the most natural thing for me to do that, rub my fingers on her lips. She may not have noticed but it was quite arousing for me.

At the top of the hour, as the long set of commercials set it, Mom kissed me on the cheek, stroking my neck on the other side with her fingers and whispered, "So, are you going to tickle my back for me?" I nodded, not trusting my voice to speak.

Mom positioned herself as before, laying on her tummy with her head in my lap facing the TV. I started to run my fingers across her shoulders outside her blouse. After a couple of minutes, still in the commercials, Mom reached back to tug her blouse out of her skirt. Since it was so tight around her waist, she had to undo some kind of snap to loosen her skirt to allow the blouse to come out. She pulled the blouse half way up her back exposing the groove running along its center.

As the movie started again, I slid my hand left hand under the blouse to tickle her shoulders, pulling her shirt higher to make room. I quickly discovered, to my disappointment, that she was wearing a bra. Not a sexy, lacy thing but a normal, thick white thing. Still, I was able to touch her, running my fingers over her warm flesh. I concentrated on giving her a real nice, long back tickle right through the next set of commercials.

When the longer set of commercials started at the bottom of the hour, Mom rose up. Finished already? Oh well, it was nice anyway and I guessed my effort would open the way to another opportunity when she was wearing something sexier.

"Colin?" she asked, "Would you mind changing into your pajamas? Your jeans are hurting my face." She raised her fingers to her cheek, indicating a red mark where my jeans had been rubbing.

"Oh, sorry Mom." I ran upstairs to put my pajamas on in record time. On the way back, it occurred to me that she could have just grabbed a pillow. My cock swelled at the thought that she hadn't availed herself of this simple solution. Why? Then I began to panic as I realized that my erection wouldn't be so easy to hide in my pajamas. I stopped at the entrance to the living room. Did I have something else to put on? No. She had asked me to put on my pajamas and I'd already changed and was in the room. How could I leave? She was laying there, waiting, the movie already started.

I thought about that time I'd had so much too drink that I barfed outside the pub, trying to get my erection to subside.

"Colin? Come on, the movie's started," Mom glanced at me before turning her eyes back to the TV.

I moved in slow motion toward her. I could hear my feet padding on the soft carpet as I walked toward her. She lifted up to let me slip into position and then lay her head on my lap as soon as I sat down. My cock, damn the thing, lurched up as soon as I felt her head hit my thighs. She reached back to flip the blouse up on her back again, indicating that I should continue where I'd left off.

As I slid my hand under her shirt, I noticed that it was looser, very loose, actually. My cock twitched again as I realized that she must have unbuttoned her blouse to give my hands more room. Maybe she would turn on her side again, like she had the night before, allowing me to peek inside her open shirt at her breasts, even if they were covered by her bra.

Looking down at my hands, I noticed that the waist of her skirt was lower too, showing the flesh rising up to her buttocks and the beginning of the crevice between her cheeks. I let my hand stray down to the waistband of her skirt, trailing my fingers along its edge, over one globe and down into the crack and up onto the other.

"Mmmmmm," Mom sighed.

Twitch, twitch. I made this exciting new trail part of my regular path for the next few minutes. Mom didn't make any other audible sounds, but I could tell she liked it by the way her skin responded to my touch as I passed over it. I began dipping lower into her waist and rubbing her flesh, dragging my fingertips up over the swell of her hips and onto the border of her buttocks, pressing her flesh. I pulled her blouse up and brought my right hand into action, tickling her upper back and shoulders.

It was a measure of how fascinated I was with running my fingers over the top of her buttocks, dipping into the start of her ass crack, that I must have circled her upper back and shoulders a dozen times before I realized that Mom was no longer wearing a bra. Holy Christ!

Dumbly, I stared at her back, my hands suddenly frozen, the left stuck at the part between her cheeks. Mom wriggled. I jerked into motion again slowly widening the circles of my left hand until my fingers were brushing along the side of her breast. I looked at her for signs of a negative reaction and was surprised to see that her eyes were closed. She wasn't even watching the movie.

I kept brushing along her breast, slowing my stroke to pull at the soft flesh there, trying to bring more of it out, perhaps subconsciously encouraging her to turn more on her side like the night before so I could touch more of her tit. But she didn't move. She didn't object to my fingers spending more time by her breast, or even pulling at it, but she didn't move to make my access easier.

When the commercials started, and her eyes remained closed, I pulled the blouse up to the top of her shoulders, moving her bent left arm higher to allow it, and laid her shirt tail over her head, covering her face. I waited for a reaction. There was none. My cock twitched. I was getting very hard. The only thing keeping it between my thighs was Mom's head. She had to feel it, to be aware of how aroused I was.​