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Text:Tom Hathaway - Memoirs of Forbidden Love/Drawers by G.M.

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I didnʼt start out to seduce my son. That wasnʼt my intention, at least consciously. I admit I had sexual thoughts about him, but I think most mothers do … if theyʼre honest. When I found out what he was doing with my underwear, I decided to have a talk with him.

As I was loading dirty clothes into the washer, I had noticed a pair of my panties all stuck together. Inside I saw what looked suspiciously like dried semen. Searching through the wash, I found yellow‐gray film on several other panties and a bra. My son was masturbating into my lingerie. I couldnʼt help but imagine him doing it, wrapping the silk around his organ and stroking it while it grew and stiffened and spouted. This vivid fantasy both excited and upset me. I realized I was jealous of my own underpants.

Iʼd been alone for a long time.

When I confronted him with the evidence, he was mortified and confessed. I asked him how this all started. He said he couldnʼt resist exploring my drawer of clean underwear … with his pants down, yet. Heʼd unfold the silks, rub them against him, and put them back, thinking about them rubbing against me. Then heʼd take my dirty panties out of the laundry bag, smell and play with them, and finally give himself relief in them. He knew it was dirty and wrong but couldnʼt stop. He burst into tears and said he was sorry.

I didnʼt want to burden him with guilt, so I told him there was nothing to forgive, he hadnʼt harmed me, and the washer would get the underwear clean. Thereʼs nothing wrong with sex. Itʼs a natural thing. Everybody has those feelings, mothers too.

I couldnʼt help wondering if the panties I was wearing now had been pressed against his tumescent member and soaked with his sperm.

I canʼt remember exactly what happened next. Maybe I canʼt let myself remember. Somehow as I was reassuring him I still loved him, we began kissing … and then petting. And then clothes were coming off. Sex raised its ugly head … in a big way. It was poking right out the top of his underpants. Except it wasnʼt ugly, it was lovable. It had come out of me and now just wanted to go back in … quite urgently, quite insistently.

Thereʼs something about an erect penis that wonʼt be denied. It can be a bit overbearing in its power. The sight of it all red and big and wanting me made we want to give in. I was his mother. He was in need. I had to take care of him. It might sound perverse now, but at the time it made perfect sense.

“Oh my, havenʼt you turned into a splendid young man. Just look at you,” I said as I touched him. I was so proud of producing him. Stroking a manʼs excitement was something I hadnʼt done in so long. It gave me a scary power. He was actually trembling with desire for me. No one before had ever trembled with desire for me.

Then my underpants were coming off, and my son discovered he was more interested in what they were hiding than in them. We both discovered that reality is better than fantasy.

His loving was so tender, so respectful, that it opened up in me a need to surrender, made me feel secure enough so I could really let go and enjoy it, really get into how he slid into me, rippled all my edges, filled me up, pressed all the emptiness out of me.

Doing it to me he was all man, solid and powerful, driving into me, possessing me. Afterwards he was a darling little boy cuddled up next to me, so grateful and playful. I was so glad to have brought such a delightful, varied person into the world.

In a way, I made him, he came out of me, and now to have him grown into a man and come back into me … and make me come … itʼs incredible.

At eighteen, heʼs had other girls but says Iʼm the best. That makes me proud.

All this started three months ago. I donʼt know how long it can go on, but I know itʼs too good to stop. He loves it, I love it. Heʼs doing better in school. Weʼre close than ever before. Itʼs just the way we are. How can that be wrong?

In public weʼre very discreet, but at home we go wild. We dance together and play games, dress up in costumes and then dress down with the help of strip poker, or if weʼre impatient strip high‐card, to my new lace underpants and his jock strap, then the last piece comes off with the teeth. Rather than in my undies, all his sperm now ends up inside me where it belongs.

Ashamed? No one who tried it would be ashamed.


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