It’s just about time for you to leave home, to go back to school. Quarantine has made you and your mother so close, but still, she has questions about what you do when you’re away at college. For fun, to relax…who you date. You’ve always been so cryptic about that, ever since you went away for college as a freshman, three years ago. “Why?” she asks, “are you embarassed by the women you date? Or…are they even women at all?” You smile, chuckle. No, you tell her. It’s not that. It’s just…you aren’t sure how she’ll feel, if she knew what type of women you go after. Yes, go after. The type of women you much prefer. “Older women,” you tell your mother, as she takes another long sip of her glass of red. “Older?” she asks. “How much older? Like…late twenties?” you laugh again. She’s getting silly, a little punchy. You love her when she teases. “No,” you say, slowly, enjoying how much she wants to know. “Like…your age,” you say. You can tell she’s breathing faster, knowing this about you. That its not just happenstance, but preference. That you like older women, women your own mother’s age. “But why?” she asks. “Has it always been this way?” She’s polished off a whole bottle by now, and her hands keep wandering to her shirt, opening a button here or there, playing with the edge of her thigh high stockings, stroking the smooth skin of her calves as she rests her feet against your thighs. You sigh. Take a deep breath. “It’s because of you, mom,” you tell her, watching her face closely for that hint of recognition, the mutual attraction you can feel pulling your mother towards you. “Its because what I want is you.” Its out now, between you, heavy and loaded, so thick you can hardly stand it. Leaning back onto the couch, you watch as your mother starts to pull up her skirt, touching between her thighs while you tell her about the women you’ve dated, and why. About what you think when you’re with them, about what you think when you see her, fresh from the shower. She starts to press her hands against her crotch, starts to expose herself to you. You can feel your cock throbbing, and you take the next step, the one you’ve wanted to for a long time. Pulling your cock out from your pants, you tell your mother to touch herself. Watching as she spreads her legs for you, for her own son, you are overcome with desire. You stroke as she plunges her fingers inside her gorgeous, wet cunny, listening to her admit all the lust she’s held for you, all these years. Finally.
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