The morning sun filtered through the gauzy curtains of my kitchen, casting a golden glow over the countertops. I wiped my hands on the apron tied around my waist, the scent of freshly baked banana bread lingering in the air. It was his favourite. I hadn’t made it in years—not since he left for college. Today, though, felt different. Michael was coming home for the summer.
I glanced at the clock. 10:47 a.m. His flight would land soon. My stomach fluttered with a mix of excitement and something else I couldn’t quite name. Anxiety, maybe. It had been months since I’d seen him last, and though we’d talked on the phone, it wasn’t the same. College had changed him. I could hear it in his voice—deeper, more assured, less of the boy I’d raised and more of the man he was becoming.
I smoothed my hair in the reflection of the microwave, adjusting the neckline of my blouse. It was silly, really, to fuss over my appearance for my own son, but I wanted him to see me as more than just “Mom.” I wanted him to see me. The woman who used to paint, who used to laugh loudly and dance in the rain. The woman who had been buried under years of responsibility and loneliness.
The sound of a car pulling into the driveway snapped me out of my thoughts. My heart leapt into my throat. I untied the apron, tossed it onto the counter, and hurried to the front door. Through the window, I saw him step out of the cab, his tall frame unfolding like a promise. My breath caught.
He was taller. Broader. His shoulders filled out the plain white t-shirt he wore, and his jeans hung low on his hips. His hair, once a messy mop of curls, was shorter now, neatly styled. When he turned to grab his bag from the trunk, I saw the definition of his arms, the way his muscles moved beneath his skin. My stomach tightened, and I quickly looked away, my cheeks burning.
What was wrong with me? This was Michael. My son. My baby.
I opened the door before he could knock, forcing a smile. “Hey, you.”
“Mom!” His face lit up, and he dropped his bag to pull me into a hug. His arms were strong, his chest solid against mine. He smelled like citrus and something earthy—a cologne I didn’t recognize. My heart raced, and I stepped back quickly, pretending to adjust my shirt.
“Look at you,” I said, my voice too bright. “You’ve grown.”
He laughed, a deep, rich sound that sent a shiver down my spine. “Not that much. You’re just shorter than I remember.”
I swatted his arm, grateful for the familiar banter. “Come on in. I made banana bread.”
As he followed me inside, I couldn’t help but notice the way he moved—confident, relaxed. He filled the space in a way he never had before. It was unsettling, this new awareness of him. I busied myself in the kitchen, slicing the bread and pouring glasses of iced tea, while he talked about his flight and his classes.
“It’s so good to be home,” he said, leaning against the counter. “I missed this.”
“Missed what? My baking?” I teased, handing him a plate.
“That, and just… you.” His eyes met mine, and for a moment, I couldn’t look away. There was something in his gaze—a warmth, a depth—that made my chest ache.
“Well, I missed you too,” I said softly, breaking the connection. “So, what do you want to do first? We’ve got the whole summer.”
He grinned. “How about a hike? It’s been forever since we’ve been up to the ridge.”
“A hike sounds perfect.”
The days that followed were a blur of shared moments. We hiked the trails behind the house, the sun warming our skin as we climbed. I found myself stealing glances at him when he wasn’t looking—the way his shirt clung to his back, the way his laughter echoed through the trees. It was innocent, I told myself. Just a mother admiring her son.
But at night, when the house was quiet and I lay in bed, my thoughts betrayed me. Vivid dreams left me restless, my body humming with a longing I couldn’t name. I’d wake in a cold sweat, my heart pounding, and stare at the ceiling until dawn. Guilt gnawed at me, sharp and unrelenting. What kind of mother felt this way about her own child?
One evening, as we sat on the porch watching the sunset, Michael turned to me. “You’ve been quiet today. Everything okay?”
I forced a smile. “Just tired. It’s been a busy week.”
He studied me, his brow furrowed. “You know you can talk to me, right? About anything.”
The sincerity in his voice nearly undid me. I wanted to tell him everything—the confusion, the shame, the fear that I was losing myself. But how could I? Instead, I reached over and squeezed his hand. “I know. Thank you.”
His hand was warm, his fingers calloused from working in the yard. I pulled away quickly, my pulse racing.
The turning point came on a rainy afternoon, my bra had been killing me so I took it off and put my blouse back on. We’d gone for a walk and gotten caught in a sudden downpour. By the time we made it back to the house, we were drenched. Michael laughed as he shook the water from his hair, his shirt plastered to his chest. I couldn’t help but laugh too, even as my own clothes clung to me uncomfortably. My blouse drenched and became transparent see thru which made him look at me as his jaw dropped as he could see my nipples through the wet material.
“You ok honey,” I said to him as he snapped out of a trance. His eyes, wide and dark like his father’s, flickered up to mine, then darted away, fixing on some point over my shoulder. A blush, hot and sudden, bloomed on his cheeks, creeping up his neck and disappearing beneath the damp collar of his t-shirt. He mumbled something, his voice thick and low, barely audible over the drumming rain against the window.
“Sorry, what?” I asked, even though I suspected I knew what was happening. A tremor ran through me, a strange mix of mortification and a shocking, almost illicit thrill. Had he seen? Had he truly seen? The thought was both terrifying and electrifying.
He coughed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Uh, yeah, Mom, I’m… I’m good. Just… just cold. Yeah, cold. Let me get a towel and help dry you mom.” His eyes dropping to my chest, staring as he slowly started to dry me. His body was ever so close to me too close real close.
The air between us felt charged, heavy with something unspoken. His hands moved slowly, the towel brushing against my shoulders, my arms, and then hesitating near my chest. I could feel the warmth of his breath, the faint tremor in his fingers as he tried to maintain some semblance of composure. My heart pounded in my ears, a deafening rhythm that seemed to drown out the sound of the rain.
“Michael,” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. It was a warning, a plea, a question—all at once. I wasn’t sure what I was asking for, or what I wanted him to do. My mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, each one more confusing than the last.
He froze, his eyes locking onto mine. For a moment, neither of us moved. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of us standing there, drenched and breathless. His gaze was intense, searching, as if he was trying to read the thoughts I couldn’t even begin to articulate.
“Mom,” he murmured, his voice thick with an emotion I couldn’t quite place. His hand, still clutching the towel, hovered inches from my chest. I could see the struggle in his eyes, the battle between what he wanted but he knew he shouldn’t want it. He softly patted my breasts with the towel, he shouldn’t be doing this, why wasn’t I stopping him. I knew I shouldn’t feel this way, I was now practically frothing at the gash oh my god. What is happening?
My breath caught, and I couldn’t speak, couldn’t move as his hand lingered too long on my breast before trailing down my side and hooking under my arms, pulling me close so my body pressed against him. I could feel him then, hard and pulsing against my thigh.
His lips were inches from mine, his breath coming in short, ragged pants. “Mom… tell me to stop…” His voice was a barely audible plea.
I stood there frozen in shock even though I knew this moment would come someday. Though the taboo nature should’ve repulsed me a dark part of me whispered how good it felt – this forbidden intimacy with one you love but shouldn’t touch.
His hand pressed lower, fingers slipping below the waistband of my soaked jeans. I wanted to push him away scream for him to stop beg him not to but everything within me urged otherwise and went limp as his long digits found their way and nestled into my lacy panties caressing wet folds making me gush more with each sinful stroke. He started rubbing my clit in slow motion circular movements, oh fuck as I parted my legs a little.
“Ah baby… don’t stop,” I sunk my head into his shoulder as he worked my clit, why was I letting him.
“Mom,” Michael breathed, his voice rough with desire. “I shouldn’t be doing this.” But his fingers never stopped their maddening rhythm, circling my clit with expert precision.
I couldn’t find the words to respond. My body was on fire, every nerve ending alive and screaming for more. I knew this was wrong, that we were crossing a line that could never be uncrossed, but in that moment, I didn’t care.
He pressed closer, his erection grinding against my thigh. “Tell me to stop,” he pleaded again, but there was no conviction in his voice.
He walked me backwards with his hand still in my panties until I felt the edge of the kitchen counter pressing against my thighs. Without breaking the kiss, he hoisted me up onto it, stepping between my legs and pressing himself against my core.
I could feel him then—hard and throbbing through the layers of our clothes—and a fresh wave of desire crashed over me. This was wrong on so many levels, but in that moment, I didn’t care. All that mattered was the feel of his body against mine and the way he made me feel alive for the first time in years.
He undid his belt and jeans enough to take out his hard cock, he pressed his purple mushroom head against my soaking gash.
I nodded, my eyes locked with his as he slowly pushed himself inside me. I could feel every inch of him stretching me, filling me in a way I’d never experienced before. A soft moan escaped my lips as he bottomed out, his hips flush against mine.
“Fuck,” he breathed, his forehead resting against mine. “You feel so good.”
I couldn’t speak, couldn’t think past the overwhelming sensation of having him inside me. He started to move then, slow and deep thrusts that made my toes curl and my nails dig into his shoulders.
“Oh god,” I gasped as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. “Don’t stop.”
“Oh god, Michael,” I gasped, as my ass rubbed on the counter as his cock slid in and out. “Yes, just like that.”
“Oh god,” I gasped, as the feeling of his cock pistoning in and out started to build an intense euphoria inside me threatening to explode. “Ah Michael, I’m-“
“Mom, keep talking,” he grunted. “Tell me want you want.”
“I… I want you to-ah! Fuck- harder!” I cried. The taboo nature just added to the intensity spurring me on.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he panted as he thrust into my cunt with more vigour.
“Don’t hold back baby,” My hips bucked against his own meeting him thrust for thrust. “I… Oh fuck! I needed this so bad!”
Michael’s hands found their way to my blouse, his fingers deftly undoing the remaining buttons. The wet fabric fell open, revealing my bare breasts to his hungry gaze. He let out a low groan, his eyes darkening with lust.
“Mom,” he breathed, his voice rough with desire as he still kept thrusting. “You’re so beautiful.”
“It… it feels so good,” I managed to say between ragged breaths. Just staring at my pussy watching his cock slide in and out my sopping gash. “Your cock… oh fuck… it’s hitting just the right spot.”
Michael’s thrusts became more urgent, each one driving me closer and closer to the edge of oblivion. His breath came in short, hot pants against my neck as he buried his face against my skin, his movements growing more erratic by the second.”M-mom,” he choked out, his voice trembling.”I… I’m gonna… fuck.”
I could feel it building too, a tight knot of pleasure coiling at the base of my spine, threatening to snap and consume me whole. The forbidden nature of our lovemaking only served to heighten the sensation, making every touch, every thrust, feel all the more intense.
“Please,” I whimpered, my nails digging into his back. “Oh god, please.” Suddenly, he pulled out and pulled me off the counter. He flipped me over onto my stomach, my breasts crushing against the cold counter. Sliding back inside me and continued pounding my cunt.
“Fuck me baby, fuck me so good,” I moaned loudly as his cock slam into my pussy again and again. Michael growled, his body covering mine as he powered into me with wild abandon.
“Mom, god mom, your pussy feels so good,” Michael groaned into my neck, his hot breath against my skin making me shudder with pleasure. “It’s so tight and wet… Fuck!”
The feel of his hard dick plunging in and out of my cunt had me moaning incoherently. My knees felt weak, my limbs turning to jelly as Michael kept pounding into me at a relentless pace that sent waves of ecstasy coursing through my entire being.
I could hear the sound of our naked flesh slapping together combined with our heavy breathing creating an erotic symphony around us. My breasts pressed against the cold counter with every thrust causing my already hardened nipples to ache and tingle deliciously.
Fuck, Mom,” he grunted, his voice strained. “Your pussy is so tight. I’m not gonna last much longer.”
“Don’t stop,” I begged, pushing back against him. “I’m so close.”
He reached around and found my clit, rubbing it in tight circles as he continued to fuck me. The dual sensation was overwhelming, sending me hurtling towards the edge of oblivion.
“Oh god, Michael!” I cried out as my orgasm crashed over me like a tidal wave. My body convulsed, my pussy clamping down around his cock as wave after wave of pleasure washed through me.
He let out a guttural moan as he followed me over the edge, his cock pulsing inside me as he came hard. We stayed like that for a moment, both of us panting and trembling in the aftermath.
Finally, Michael pulled out and helped me stand on shaky legs. He pulled me into a tight embrace, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
“I love you, Mom,” he said softly.
“I love you too,” I replied, resting my head against his chest.