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Text:Tom Hathaway - Memoirs of Forbidden Love/Bad Back by Masseur

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My mom has a bad back. Sometimes the painʼs so bad she can hardly walk around. She has to take muscle relaxants and pain pills.

I gave her massages for a while, though, and that helped. First Iʼd just rub her neck and shoulders while she sat in a chair. This would usually be before she was going to bed, to help her sleep. Sheʼd pin her hair up to get it out of the way and then pull her robe and nightgown down over the shoulders. Iʼd dig into those tense muscles with my fingers and thumbs, sometimes even used my knuckles. Her skin was tender, so we used cream.

She liked it, said it helped, and I liked making her feel better. It always pained me to see her in pain. I volunteered to do her whole back.

At first she was reluctant and embarrassed but finally agreed — anything for relief. She changed clothes in the bathroom and came out in her robe. “Donʼt look,” she said. “Close your eyes.”

I did, and after a few seconds she said, “OK.” She was lying face down on the couch wearing pajama bottoms and a bra. She gave me a flustered smile that said this is a bit daring and unusual but weʼre being proper about it.

I tried massaging her around the bra, but that just didnʼt work. The straps totally interfered with the strokes and got soaked with cream in the process. I told her the bra would have to go. After a pause she said, “Close your eyes again.”

I got exasperated and said, “Mom, youʼre lying on your front. I canʼt see anything.”

“I have to sit up to unhook it.”

“I can unhook it.”

“Where did you learn to do that?”

“Mom, Iʼm eighteen!”

“As if thatʼs so old.” With a long‐suffering sigh she squinched down onto the couch to prevent anything from showing, then said, “OK … just undo it … let the straps lie on the side.”

With her whole back free I could really massage her, get into those long strokes that loosen the tension. She was groaning with contentment. I was getting turned on by touching her and seeing her skin ripple under my hands. I told myself, Youʼre a weirdo, getting a hard‐on for your mom. Thatʼs not whatʼs supposed to happen. But whether it was supposed to happen or not, it was definitely happening … and I liked it. As she relaxed, I could see the sides of her breasts. I wanted to see more. After the massage, though, she sent me away so she could sit up and “get decent.”

That night I dreamed mom and I were on a boat that was gradually filling up with water. It was a rubber boat … or maybe a water bed. I asked her what I should do and she said, “Have a drink.” Her breasts were hanging over the edge. When I touched them, I woke up.

Next morning mom said sheʼd slept better, with less pain, so we decided to have another massage that night. We agreed the couch wasnʼt ideal. It was too short, and the slope was awkward. When I said a bed would be better, she gave me a look that said donʼt get fresh with your mother.

That evening, though, she turned down her bed and said weʼd give it a try. She made me wait in the hall until she was ready and called me in. She was lying face down on the sheet wearing only pajama pants with her robe folded neatly beside her along with an open jar of skin cream. She had her head turned away from me.

If sheʼs making such a big deal of it, she must be thinking about it, I thought. That made me think about it all the more, wondering what was on the other side of that bad back as I massaged it. Iʼd gotten a couple of peeks at her boobs before — changing to go swimming and getting out of the shower. Sheʼd been embarrassed and covered them up right away. They were big and nice, and I wanted to see more. Iʼd been just a kid then — now Iʼd be able to appreciate them better. I also wondered what was on the other side of her pajama bottoms. Those parts Iʼd never seen.

My dad had moved out about a year ago. Their fights had been terrible at the end. Once he yelled at her, “Uptight frigid bitch!” and she cried. I wanted to hit him for saying that, but I wondered what was behind it. She wasnʼt exactly Ms. Free & Easy.

But now as I was rubbing her back, she seemed very sensual. She was breathing deeply, almost purring. I could tell which strokes she liked by the different sounds she made, then Iʼd do more of those. “Do it there,” sheʼd say, or, “Deeper in there … harder.” I liked pleasing her.

The massages got to be a routine with us. Sheʼd have a few drinks after dinner while we watched TV, then about ten oʼclock weʼd go into her room together.

I got a book out of the library to learn to do it better. I had a hard‐on almost the whole time I was massaging her. Afterwards, I had loverʼs nuts — my balls would ache and thereʼd be a cramp at the base of my cock, the whole thing sore from being hard for so long. Iʼd jerk off thinking about mom, what her hidden parts looked like, what it would be like to be in her. Iʼd had lots of girls, was what the counselors and magazines call a “sexually active teen,” but I wanted mom more than any of them.

She liked it when Iʼd do powerful strokes from her shoulders all the way down to her buns. This slid her around on the bed, so to keep her steady, Iʼd brace my knee between her legs. She objected to this at first, but I told her there was no other way to do it, this was how they said to do it in the book, so she let me. Whenever I tried to nudge my knee into her, though, she told me to stop right there.

Most of her pain was in the low back, and I spent a lot of time working on those tense muscles, trying to get them to relax. Iʼd edge her PJs and panties down a bit, and when she objected Iʼd say the book said the pain comes from “blockages in the deep musculature” and this was the only way to get at them. Sheʼd mutter something but let me.

Each time I went a little farther down. Her bottom looked great, so soft and round.

I got to where I could put my knee higher up into the softness of her thighs. If sheʼd move around, Iʼd grind it into her a little bit and tell her to hold still.

As I massaged her buns, Iʼd tell her the tension and pain was coming from there and I could feel it breaking up. Iʼm not sure she believed any of the reasons I gave. I think it was more that she needed to say no, but once sheʼd protested and Iʼd given some sort of explanation, then she could relax and enjoy what I was doing to her.

Gradually I got to the point where I could massage her whole “gluteus maximus,” as the book called it. Mom liked that a lot, murmuring deep in her throat, her mouth open and smiling, eyes shut tight. Afterwards she couldnʼt look at me.

Every once in a while on the following day, though, sheʼd give me looks Iʼd never seen before — pouty, embarrassed, upset, needy. She wasnʼt in nearly as much pain, and she could move around easier.

I wanted to be ready when the time finally came for me to put it in, so I wore gym shorts that I could get out of quick. To not upset her too much, I wore a sweatshirt that hung down far enough to cover my hard‐on and the damp spots from all the pre-come oozing from the tip.

With the bookʼs help I convinced her most of her pain was radiating up from spasmed posterior muscles that needed to be loosened. Little by little, she let me have free reign over her rear. I massaged her butt with my whole forearm, making it ripple and slide. If I touched her thighs or tried to get between her buns, sheʼd tense up and say, “Donʼt! That tickles!” As I worked on her, I could see the fringe of momʼs pussy hair and the edges of the lips all glistening with moisture, her own pre‐come. That meant she wanted to do it too.

I was fascinated to think I came out of there. Going back in seemed the greatest thing that could ever happen.

I spread her cheeks a bit and got a good look at it, red and wet, open, ready, demanding, a powerful mama cunt. Give it to me … right now! it seemed to command me. You know what I want. She doesnʼt, but you do. Do it!

I couldnʼt hold back any longer. Without mom knowing, I worked my way out of my gym shorts. I quickly pulled her PJ bottoms and panties down to her ankles. She sat up startled, and I got a great sight of her big tits, nipples hard. She saw my cock and gasped. Before she could get up, I pushed her back down on the bed. “No, donʼt!” she said and kicked with her legs. “Put your pants back on!”

I knew it was now or never. Unless I took her, sheʼd never let me get this far again. I lay down on her back with my hard‐on against her. She screamed and tried to twist away.

I was desperate, trembling with need of her. “I love you,” I said, grabbing both her hands in mine and pressing down on her to keep her there. Her wiggling and squirming helped me get between her legs. I kept trying to get it in but I couldnʼt and didnʼt want to risk letting go of her hands. She was crying now, but as she felt me ramming there I guess her instincts took over because she raised her hips to let me in. I could feel my tip pushing her lips open, then the shaft entering her. I slid into the best feeling ever.

“No!” mom said again but it turned into long moan through her panting mouth. I drove my rod into her harder, and she grunted with each of my strokes. “This is wrong,” she said.

“This is wonderful,” I said, letting go of her hands and reaching around to squeeze both breasts. They were soft and round and big and beautiful, the nipples stiff and prickled. I wanted to suck them like Iʼd done when I was little, but I couldnʼt get to them with my mouth. Instead I kissed the back of her neck.

Mom began moving with me, swiveling her hips around my cock. Now I knew she really liked it. This excited me so much I couldnʼt hold back any longer. I cried out in joy and started to come, flattening her onto the bed with my frantic pumping thrusts. I could feel my sperm jetting into her, streaming all the way into the womb that had been my home.

“Youʼre a great lover,” I told her as my orgasm finished. She seemed in shock, eyes open but glassy and unfocused.

I dropped one hand down from momʼs tits to rub her pussy from the front. I kept moving inside as I stroked her outside with my fingers. She started crying again, tears squeezing from her closed eyes, but she didnʼt seem unhappy. She began breathing faster and quivering and making sounds. Finally momʼs whole body tensed, her mouth opened wide in scream of delight, and she thrashed around the bed. Her excitement excited me, and I got rock hard again and started coming, both of us going wild together, holding on to each other for dear life, screaming, “Yes! Yes! Love you!”

Exhausted and contented, we rolled facing and twined our arms and legs together in an embrace. I could feel momʼs breasts against me as we French kissed, her sucking my tongue as if it were a cock deep in her throat. Then I dropped down and kissed and sucked those soft, round, big, beautiful tits to my heartʼs content. Her hands held me close against her so tenderly, stroking my head and back.

We fell asleep like that, totally blissed out.

The next day, though, was a disaster. Mom had a stunned, frozen look on her face. Her back pain was much worse, and she moved slowly around the house, wincing and snuffling, suddenly old. “Shame … you should be ashamed … of what you did to me … to your mother,” she said in a choked voice, staring at me like I was Frankenstein. “That was rape. You raped your own mother. I didnʼt want … to do that. Thatʼs a crime against God.”

I tried to tell her how great it was, how much sheʼd liked it, but she didnʼt want to hear it, could hardly look at me. Sheʼd withdrawn into a daze. I tried to get her to have a drink, to loosen up, but instead she just took more pain pills.

I thought after a few days it would wear off and weʼd get back to normal, but it didnʼt. She kept gimping around the place giving me accusing looks to make me feel guilty. And it worked, I did. I got bummed out about the whole thing, sorry Iʼd made her feel worse. Iʼd really wanted to help her, to make her feel better. I admit, sure, I wanted to do it to her, but I donʼt think sex should make a person feel bad, especially when she liked it so much.

Finally things got a little better between us. Mom told me in that quiet, distant voice she used now that sheʼd forgiven me for raping her. She hoped God would forgive me too.

I got more hopeful that things would be OK again, but when I asked her if she wanted another massage, she glared at me like I was the devil and walked away.

Two months later I graduated from high school and left home. I enrolled in college early for summer session, glad to get away. I miss her and still feel bad that she feels bad, and I donʼt know how to make it better for either of us, so itʼs just as good not to be there.

Iʼve been trying to forget about it, but last week I got a letter from her saying sheʼs praying to God to forgive me, not to send me to hell. She said her back is even worse now and sheʼs decided to have surgery. The doctor will fuse the vertebrae together. She wonʼt be able to move as well, but the doc said sheʼll have less pain. I hope so. I still think if she had loosened up and accepted that her son was now her man and she liked it, we couldʼve kept on doing massages and making love and she wouldnʼt have to have her back fused together.


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