My heart skipped another beat when the first thing I took out of the basket turned out to be my son’s briefs. I had touched his underwear many times in the past, but this time I felt warm all over as I felt the fabric in my hand. I felt weird at the realization that I was holding something that had been so intimate with my son, well, actually with that man that had caused such a sweet reaction in me. This time I cursed myself, and I cursed aloud. Why the hell was I reacting like a school girl and why was my reaction so strong, so quickly? I had no answer.
I struggled to force my hand to put that garment in the machine. Instead my hand brought it closer to my face. The shame became unbearable as I stretched my hand on the inside and felt the place where his penis must have rested and took a strong, deep inhalation of the hormones still present in the fabric. It felt nice and arousing and erotic and overwhelming and hugely shameful. I quickly threw the briefs towards the washing machine and ran inside the house.
The shame, the guilt, and yes, the excitement stayed with me throughout the evening and throughout the weekend. I stayed out of his way as I tried to get Samantha’s voice out of my head. I had cursed her repeatedly throughout the weekend for the great injustice she had done me. She had changed my son into a man. She had changed me into a woman, instead of a mom. She had taken away the shield that had kept him an innocent little boy in my eyes. She had replaced my son with an attractive, young college boy, whose mere thought made my legs weak and my vagina moist.
That last thought was the scariest. I hadn’t felt like that since I was a teenager. In such a brief moment, I was reliving one of my fondest memories, and it was a lot more painful to admit that my son had the qualities that only a man of my dreams possessed. That fucking bitch! I wanted to choke her.
It took me a week to come to terms with my reaction. I failed to completely shake things out of my system though, but at least I gained control over my emotions. I was able to be in my son’s presence without feeling flustered. He noticed my situation, but he didn’t know what the real problem was. He asked me a few times if I was okay and I had left it by saying only that I wasn’t feeling well.
Next Saturday morning, as I lay in my bedroom, listening to the steady roar of the lawnmower and daring not to go outside, a question came to my mind. It was involuntary, as I was trying very hard to keep myself occupied with other things, but it was a question that I felt I wanted to have answered. Somehow, something brought the following question to mind: Is it possible that my son feels the same way about me? My psyche was in such turmoil that while it was busy trying to dislodge Samantha’s thoughts from my head, it was at the same time exploring possibilities of actually carrying her suggestion out.
I gasped as I realized the possibility. I mean, there I was, excited over my son. Was it possible that a healthy, strong, virile young man like him would reciprocate my feelings and find me exciting as well? I couldn’t contain myself thinking what if it was possible. I mean, the implications of my thoughts were immense. If possible, it would mean that I was still able to excite a man like him. My self-esteem prayed for that to be true while my loins sent currents to my breasts and my brain. There was a tiny voice that suggested that may be it wasn’t possible but my wet vagina somehow drowned that voice out very quickly. My erect nipples prodded my imagination to explore such a possibility even further and made it to consider the actions that would take place given that he felt the same way as I did and we connected, we copulated, we joined as one. Oh, the shivers that ran up my spine with those thoughts! I couldn’t stop my legs from spreading as I imagined the copulation taking place, what with my knees against my breasts, my feet resting on his back, and he firmly pressed inside…whoa, I had to stop myself from going any further and forced my hand away from my pussy.