My son hadn't had much of a social life in high school, one of those kids that blossoms when he leaves for college, and goes wild too, maybe because he was so painfully shy and wanted to overcome it with chemicals. When he came home for summer break, he found someone somewhere, probably someone he worked with, to buy him liquor. The parents of one of his very few high school friends were out of town for a month and he drank over there and got a ride home from the sister, still in high school. It was a mess, but there wasn't much I could do about it short of throwing him out. Then one night he stumbled in, absolutely legless. Life had taught me to take these things in stride, not because "I didn't have your typical childhood experience." Quite the contrary. But what surprised or shocked most people, I took as about par for the course. So I rose from the sofa and walked back to the door that opened into the garage, which opened onto the driveway, and stood over my son. "Michael, if you throw up, you'll have to clean it up in the morning. Are you sure you want to come in yet?"

"I already puked!!" He laughed. "Then I drank some more! Then I puked some more! Then I drank." His voice took on a singsong quality. "Then I puked, then I drank. But I finished it."

"How much, Michael?" I asked, crouching down, suddenly concerned. "How much did you finish?"

"A liter."

"In how long?"

"I don't know."

"When did you start?"

"Seven. Six. No, seven."

Four or five hours. He'd be fine, now that his stomach was empty. "I hope you won a bet at least," I said with a smile.

"Just said I could!!" He smiled. "And I did."

"Let's keep you downstairs tonight. We can talk about . . . we can talk about how to keep this from happening again in the morning."

"It won't happen again!"

"No," I said softly. "No, it won't. Come into the family room. I'll fetch a blanket and a sheet for the sofa."

"Wait! Stay!" He croaked.

"No, Michael. We're not spending tonight together." My brain flashed. "Michael, I want you to remember the numbers two, six, and one. Can you do that for me? Please?"

"Sure!"

"Try extra hard. Now get into the family room, onto the sofa. I'll get the pillows."

"Thank youuuu."

"Michael, honey, are you still a virgin?"

"Yes, mom," he answered, his shoulder and head rubbing up against the wall as he made his way down the hallway.

"Thanks for being honest," I chuckled. "Now try hard to remember. What were those numbers?"

"What numbers?"

I almost doubled over laughing. "Mommy wants to get your laptop. One second." I jogged up the stairs to his bedroom and found it lying on top of the dresser and found Michael again downstairs lying on the carpeted floor of the family room. I opened the laptop, picked up his hand, and swiped his finger over the sensor. "Stop trying to milk me for attention. Get on the sofa." I sat down and patted the seat next to me. Michael hoisted himself onto the sofa and I placed the computer atop both our thighs. "Show me the porn you like."

"Mom! Oh my God, Mom, that's . . "

I panicked, trying to read the situation. "That's great, isn't it?"

"Yeah, he said, smiling widely."

"I want to see stories. Open the folder where you saved the stories."

They were titled, "story1, story2, story3, story4 . . . " And there were twenty-two of them. We could be here all night. I took the computer back to my own lap and said, "Tell me about something interesting at school." He blathered while I searched the stories for the word ‘Mommy.' It was in all but six. Same formula for most. Seductive, dominant mother initiates with underage son who feels coerced at first because he "knows it's wrong," if for no other reason than his mother tells him that as she . . . and he appears to behave in a state of shock until nearing the orgasm in her vagina and, of course, fucks her in the ass by the end. Beautiful. So, this was what I had to work with. I turned to my son. "Do you know what that smell is?"

He shook his head.

"That's my pussy, Michael. Reading these stories you like really turns me on."

"What stories?"

"' Any good mother would suck her son's cock when he needed it. And you know how much I love mothering you.'" I smiled at him and placed my hand on his bulging jeans. "Take it out," I said with a smile. Michael unbuttoned his jeans and I stood and pulled off his shoes and pulled his pants down. "Shirt too. Good boy. Now let's see if we can get you upstairs." It took both of us, but we managed to get him deposited in bed. "I'll be back in twenty minutes to take your virginity," I said from the doorway before I closed it as Michael gurgled nonsensically in reply.

Those twenty minutes were terrible. I remembered how, when I was pregnant with him, I knew I was making him a penis so he could fuck me someday and that now it was about it happen. I knew too that we would have sex later in life and that he'd be thankful that it was me who took his virginity when I told him. I knew that he would find his laptop open to the dirty story and his clothes on the floor in the morning, or afternoon, and wonder.

When I wandered into his room, it was only by touch that I could feel his hand wrapped loosely around the base of his hard dick. I stroked it a few times and my knees buckled in orgasm. It was time for him to be a good son and cum in his mother's womb. I climbed over him and came again before he was entirely inside me, sliding down him unevenly as my pussy clung to his dick. I never could have predicted what followed. Feverishly riding my son's dick, staring at the vague outline of his face, was the best sex I'd ever had. A buzzing rose inside me and I could not cum enough and could not stop cumming. When I finally felt him fill his end of our love, when I gave him his reward for making me cum and he dutifully pumped his cum inside me, I slid off him to fulfill one of my favorite fantasies, of sucking his cock while he slept. I'd jerked off to it for four years and now, finally, tasting my cunt his dick, I very softly, gently, sucked him stiff and gave his limp, unknowing form a twenty minute blowjob.

I wanted so much to fuck again, but the alcohol must be wearing off. Desperate for a tease to leave him, I scampered back to my room, returned with my perfume bottle, and spritzed the pillow next to him. I pressed the back of my hand to his forehead. "You already know, so I won't say." Then I disappeared, shutting the door behind me.