Love, Your Mother

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Amateur

By J. D. Cartwright

Re-posted to Literotica by iWriter4U

NOTICE

All characters in this story who engage in sexual behavior are over the age of eighteen. All references to characters under the age of eighteen are included strictly for story and character development.

This story was originally posted on Literotica then removed as it was slated to be officially published by a now-defunct publishing company. It was published with its own ISBN and even made the original author a little money. Now, though, it comes back home for you to enjoy.

One

Garrett presses play on the device containing the audio recording.

“Walking in this house made me fucking homesick. The smell reminds me of the best times of my life.

“It’s been two days since Mother’s funeral. I haven’t slept more than minutes at a time since. I sit in one of the dark stained, wooden chairs at the table in her kitchen as I sip on the scotch that she had saved for a special occasion. She showed it to me years ago and told me that one day we would share it in celebration of a special occasion. We had already begun our special relationship, and I recall being in a state of wonderment at what sort of special occasion could outdo the dawning of a sexual relationship between a mother and her son.

Regardless….

“I’ve spent the last two days in a drunken haze roaming aimlessly throughout the house, remembering every detail of our relationship. It started with the box that sits in the middle of the table. It’s a small tote with clasps on two sides that keep the lid on tight. ‘Top Secret!’ is written in a wide-tipped black sharpie. It was written there when I was fourteen-years-old. At that age, the events that eventually unfolded in my life were inconceivable to me. Which fourteen-year-old would believe such fantasies could become reality? Everyone in my social circle always joked about making it with the hottest girl in school.

“This box here represents the fantasy that I bred in my mind, which became the focal point of my life… until it was all taken away.

“Before you can understand the implications that this box had on my life, you must first know my mother and how I came to be in this world.

“She was a beautiful woman by anyone’s standards. She was fifty-two, and despite her age, seemed to be in the prime of her life. That’s how it felt to me, anyway. She was single the entire time I grew up, but in a loving relationship with my father. They had been in love since long before I came to be. They were truly a wondrous and unique couple.

“They were very close; almost like brother and sister. They had a physical relationship that went the way many of them did in their circle of friends. She wound up pregnant with me when she was twenty, but he was better than his friends. He sat down with Mother over the course of several days and they hashed out how to move forward. I’ll spare you all the details. He was as active in my life as I ever wanted or needed.

“He was always happy to see me and take me places. We went to museums, ball games, camping, and more. It was just that he lived in a different house. Mom and Dad were happy with their separate living arrangements, but went out on dates often. My father was anything but an absentee parent who only sent five dollars on my birthday. In fact, Mother would often happily roll her eyes at how over the top he would get when it came to my annual celebrations.

“I could not have been happier. Until I was fourteen.

“I’m staring at the box as I recall my story. The words written on the box were not there when the contents inside began to accumulate. It was just an empty box. If I went back in time, I would tell myself that this box had a predetermined destiny. That destiny was to hold the fodder that was initially my obsession with Mother. But eventually turned into the fuel that lit the fire in our souls.

“When I was about ten years old, Mother decided she wanted to get a job and she sat and discussed this with me. She treated me like an adult in times like those, and it made me smile to think that she thought of me as an equal. I feel now like she would have altered her course if she felt like I didn’t agree with something she brought up to me. It was always when it had something to do with a disruption in our familial routine. She would sit me down on the carpet in the living room and she would get drinks and snacks and set them between us before sitting down on the carpet at my level. She never spoke down to me at all. I felt so grown-up snacking in the living room with Mother as she laid out her plan and sought my input.

“In that discussion, she told me our routine would only change a little. She told me she had gotten a job, and that she would always be home when I went to school, bursa escort but sometimes would not be home when I got back. Looking back, I realize that decisions were already made, and she took my input simply as a matter to explain things or make only minor changes, so I wasn’t abruptly and irreparably harmed by a sudden change.

“‘Is that okay, kiddo?’ she would always ask with a warm smile. Yes, while I felt like an adult, I realized she used words like ‘kiddo’.

“She always sought my approval before discussions were ended. She fielded any questions I would have, and I always left every conversation feeling comfortable about whatever was happening or about to happen. She took great pains to ensure I was never confused, bothered, upset, or any other way but positive about a family decision. Being an adult now, I find it odd how authoritative parents are towards their children. I also know that my family was a rare case.

“That’s where it started. I’m trying to find the note that started everything. There are hundreds of them in the box.

“Ah, here it is.”

Dearest Garrett,

I hope you enjoyed school. Today, I have to work late, but not late enough to miss our time together tonight. Have a snack when you get home and I ‘ ll see you as soon as I get home!

Love,

Your Mother

The sound of a glass being filled interrupts the story. The clinking of ice is soon overpowered by liquid splashing. A large gulp is heard, followed closely by the slamming of the glass onto the table.

“I remember this one. There’s a stain on it from the lunch I had while at school the day she wrote it. I remember being surprised when I opened my lunchbox to find it.

“It wasn’t the first one she left, but it was the first one I kept. The words on the top of the box that sits here in front of me weren’t written that day. I would always put the notes in my backpack, and sometime after they accumulated, I would empty the bag and put the notes in the box.

“I imagine puberty is where everything changed. No, not my mother or our relationship. It was how I viewed Mother. She was always Mom to me. But then, she became a woman in the house, and I began to take notice of that. Of course, in the moment, I didn’t realize I was taking note.

“When I first started saving the notes, I just kept them because I enjoyed having something from Mother when I felt lonely or something. The change that took place, as I mentioned, was when I hit puberty and began to observe Mother as a woman.

“Her smile, her mood, her ass, breasts; all of her began bringing new meaning and especially new feelings to me. Feelings included unbridled love, trust, and lust.”

The sound of rustling paper fills the background of the recording.

“Let’s see what this one says.”

Love,

I ‘ m going to miss you while you ‘ re at camp with your Dad! I ‘ ll have snacks and drinks ready to sit and hear all about it when you get home. I miss you!

Love,

Your Mother

“There was a kiss mark on that one. It seems sometime later I drew a heart on it. I did that to my favorite notes. I remember the night I wrote hearts on some of the notes. It was the night that changed my life, and the same night that the words appeared atop my secret box here.

“I had sat down in my closet and was reading through them all, marking my favorites with hearts on the back. I would read each one and when my heart felt a certain way, I turned it over and grabbed my four-in-one pen and picked a random color and drew the tiny image on the back of each note. Some were green, red, blue or black. I never knew then that the box the notes would be in would be the last thing I had to remember Mother.

“It was during that time that I encountered my first sexual thoughts about Mother. I was confused and didn’t know if something bad was happening to me. I read the notes and felt my penis begin to harden. It wasn’t the first time it ever happened, but it was the first time it happened when I thought of someone who was a real person in my life.

“At that age, I was vaguely aware of what sexual attraction was, and I didn’t do the math in my head. The love of my mother had turned into a sexual attraction for me.

“That night, I left a note for Mother.”

Mother,

I would like to have a talk tonight. I will prepare the snacks!

I love you,

Garrett

“That note is something I found out not long ago, was something that Mother kept. She didn’t have a fancy box like I did. I discovered this box in a mound of her things in the closet in her room. It wasn’t out in the open, but it also wasn’t hidden. If anyone found the box, they would have thought it was simply a collection of memorable and genuine things her son gave to her as a child.

“The next day, after dinner, I prepared the snacks and called Mother down to talk to me. bursa escort bayan It was a long chat that took us well into the late hours of the evening. I started the conversation asking about sex and any associated topic I could think of. She was always considerate of me and answered every question with enthusiasm and facts without bias. She referred me to my father as well, to get what she deemed as the most important perspective on the subject. She said that day, ‘His input will build on mine and give you all the information you need, sweetie!’ “

“I learned and understood a lot about human sexual behavior, including the taboo nature of my feelings. I never expressed them at all, but the information gleaned from both my parents lead me to believe that my thoughts weren’t common among people in our society. With that in mind, I never moved beyond my boyish fantasies with Mother. I didn’t think of them as boyish at the time. I think, now, I was falling in love with Mother at that early age.

“All that was when I was fourteen. Fast forward five years, and I was about to be headed off to college and my life changed again, but this time, without me knowing.

“I was to take a train to the university, but before that, both my parents helped me pack up and store the things I wouldn’t be taking with me. It was a great day, and I enjoyed the time Mother spent with me before I was headed out on my own. Looking back, had Dad not been there, I don’t know if I would have taken my adulthood into consideration and perhaps broken a barrier that would have changed both our lives.

“Instead, I lived for the moment and enjoyed an uncommon opportunity of having both my parents happily working together with me. I guess it was that day that we packed my childhood up, and the adult world opened to my adventurous ways. They both drove me to the train station, and I boarded after a proud exchange from Dad and an emotional one from Mother. The last thing I saw before I boarded the train was Dad’s arm around Mother and her waving at me with a tear running down her cheek.”

Another drink pouring interrupts the story, followed by a hard setting down of the bottle next to the microphone. Another large gulp overtakes the microphone, and the glass is once again slammed against the table.

“While I was gone from home, Mother would call me often and tell me about her days, and I would go on and on about my classes and the people I met. We would talk for hours and I often would get the feeling that I was talking to a woman I’ve known all my life instead of Mother. I always shrugged it off, but sometimes my urges would get the better of me. On nights when our conversations went late, I would hang up the phone and masturbate after being hard for a while.

“Her voice and level of excitement would get me hard, and sometimes I would even pull my penis out while we were on the phone and stroke it. I never came while on the phone, but would make sure I was still hard when we hung up. I would strip out of my clothes and lay in my bed naked and wrap my fingers around my penis and rub it up and down. When I spoke with Mother, my orgasms were more intense than any other time.

“The phone calls never stopped being a common occurrence, but I was away from home for a while before I received a letter from Mother.”

My Dear Garrett,

I miss you. I sometimes go into your room hoping you would be there, but I feel silly once I arrive. I know you ‘ re not there. I do this often in hopes that it wasn ‘ t true that I sent my baby away. I know you ‘ re out finding your way, but home is lonely without you.

Love,

Your Mother

“I didn’t expect the letter, and it was unusually sentimental. I remember smiling as I read it, and I immediately put a heart on the back of it. Per usual habit, I went to put it in the box, but I realized I didn’t have it with me. I put it into a new box that I decided I would bring home and sneak it into the permanent box.

I sneaked the permanent box with my secret warning on it into one of the bigger boxes that I placed in the attic at home. In fact, I placed it in the box myself, and at the bottom, to ensure it would not be found unless someone went looking for it.

“Time went on as it does. The phone calls continued, and I received rare letters from Mother. They usually said how much she missed me. They never talked about things we discussed on the phone, and they were very infrequent. Mother never gave me any hint that anything was amiss; that is, until one day, I got a longer than usual letter in the mail.”

Love,

I miss you. I get pretty lonely without anyone here, and one night, I wanted to see some of your things. I went to the attic and sat on the floor and reminisced with the things you put in your box. That is, until I got to the bottom and found your ” Top Secret! ” box.

I escort bursa initially didn ‘ t look at it, but then I asked myself, what could possibly be there? My thought at the time was that at worst, it could be a magazine with nude women or something, but that would be normal for a boy. I ‘ ll tell you; I was a little taken back by what I eventually found in there.

My heart almost exploded when I saw all the notes you kept that I wrote you over the years. I happily cried there in the attic as I read them. What are the hearts for? Are those your favorites? Why did you keep them?

Write me back. I ‘ d love to be able to hold something new of yours.

Love,

Your Mother

P.S. Please write your response to my questions in a letter and not speak them on the phone.

Two

“I didn’t know what to think about what she said. It was all harmless, but she asked me questions for which the answers might cause her distress. Whatever sexual feelings I had for Mother then would never be an excuse to cause her distress. I loved her too much.

“Now, listen; I remember this thought exactly. I remember thinking that there was a reason she wanted to know only via a letter. Questions ran through my mind. Did she not want me to bring up her questions at all on the phone? The final thing that enticed me was the thought that she wanted to explore a thought she had, but was taking the safe way of that exploration. Mother had doubt. If she spoke and I didn’t respond the way she thought I would, then she could take her time and recuperate through a written letter. On the phone, it would take all she had not to show her discomfort with how wrong she would feel. I needed her to know she wasn’t wrong in her thoughts. I wrote her back.”

My dear Mother,

My collection of the notes you wrote me does not comprise all the notes you ever wrote. It was most of them, though. We ‘ ve always been frank with each other in our discussions, but something feels different about this one as I ‘ m writing it. No matter; I ‘ ve never hidden anything from you, and I won ‘ t start now.

To start, the notes with a heart on the back of them are my favorites. There ‘ s no single reason why I chose them. They could be because of how they made me feel in that moment, because they lifted my spirits when I needed, or because I simply enjoyed the words.

As I grew older, I know I put hearts on more of the notes and I ‘ ll tell you in all honesty why. As I began to mature, I began to see you more as a woman than as my Mother. Don ‘ t get me wrong, you ‘ re always going to be my Mom, but I found myself observing you as a woman; not JUST my Mother. I found myself a bit disturbed that I felt that way, but I never let it go.

I hope this answers your questions, and as it should go without saying, I miss you, too! It ‘ s hard being without you.

Love,

Your Garrett

“I waited a few days before I mailed it, and as soon as I put it in the mailbox, I knew something had begun that I could not undo; not that I wanted to. There were only two ways this could go, and despite my best efforts, I wished they would go the way I had been thinking. She could, however, dismiss my thoughts as boyhood fantasies that I’d have certainly outgrown. In that instance, I would have to internalize my thoughts forever and never bring it up again. At that time, I would have spent six or seven years developing this uncanny love for my mother that I would have to put on the back burner. It would not have been easy.

“The phone calls continued and transpired as they always had. She never mentioned the letters, nor did her tone or attitude towards me change. Enough time had gone by that I knew she had received my response, and nothing changed. At least there was no outrage to my admission, though I never had reason to believe there would be. It was a week, before I received Mother’s response.”

My Love,

I miss you so! I enjoyed your response and will treasure your handwritten letter. Did you know that was only the second time you ‘ ve written a letter to me? I still have the first one, where you asked me to have snacks and a talk later that evening. Do you remember the conversation we had? I do. You asked me about sex, and we talked for hours about it. You ‘ re a man now, love. Tell me your thoughts. Don ‘ t let barriers form between us. I enjoyed many years of open communication between us, and I don ‘ t want that to stop now.

Love,

Your Mother

“I felt like the letter was hurried to a close. It felt like there was more that should have been said. I felt like a prisoner walking the plank and I was about to take another step towards the deep.

“It was weeks before I worked up the courage to respond to her letter. In that time, I noted a slight change in how Mother talked to me on the phone. It was the noted change that drove me to write what I did.”

My Dearest Mother,

Whether I ‘ m perceived as a monster by you or anyone else, it will be something I have to deal with, because I choose not to eliminate the availability of completely open and honest communication.

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