Author Note: Based on feedback to the first two parts, I am publishing more of the story per chapter. I hope this helps!
Although we didn’t say anything else to each other on any topic even remotely close to that for the rest of my time at home, there was actually a positive to come out of that whole debacle. I just had to wait until I was back at uni to find out what it was.
The first night I got back, Lydia was already there (she’d come back for New Year’s, there was some party she’d been invited to) and obviously bored of there not being anyone around to talk to. She pounced as soon as I said I was free that evening, and pretty soon we were both sat on her bed in her room, watching some horror movie she’d said she’d really wanted to watch and then talked all the way through.
I blame the cider we were both drinking, but she finished a long story about how her dad had got drunk on Christmas Eve and started telling her and her sister about his ‘racy escapades’ when he was a young man and I felt compelled to weigh in with my own story. After telling her about how awkward it had been, she looked at me and shook her head.
“Let me tell you, I wish my mum was that open,” she said. “If my sister hadn’t told me a couple of things, I would have literally known nothing about sex. And anyway, masturbation isn’t weird, everyone does it.”
I could feel my cheeks burning again. “Okay, sure, whatever,” I said, trying to move on.
“No, seriously,” she said, grabbing my arm. “Do you want to see my vibrator? I use it all the time, it’s amazing.”
I shrug. A hot girl in her pyjamas is offering to show me her sex toy? I’m not going to say no. “Okay, if you want.”
She rummaged through the bottom drawer next to her bed, giving me another painfully nice view of her bum, and pulled out a blue flexible shaft attached to some kind of vibrating base.
“Here. It’s not weird at all,” she said, waving it around. “I cleaned it, obviously.”
When I was back in my room later, it took me no time at all to cum, thinking about exactly how Lydia was using her vibrator. The saddest part was, I reflected as I threw away the used tissues, this was probably the high point of my sex life so far.
It’s sad to admit, but my entire second term at university passed in a similar way to the first. Lydia and I went down to some letting agent’s office in the first week to sign the contract for our flat next year, and it was strange to think that we wouldn’t even set foot in it until September. I kept improving at football, mostly because the level of competition was high and you had to be on your best game to stay in the team, and kept hopelessly chasing after Lydia. She seemed completely happy with Mark and never showed any interest beyond the occasional flirty moment, and I was probably overstating those in my head anyway. I was beginning to worry that she thought I was gay, since I never had any involvement with girls. At school, the only guys who weren’t virgins were the really popular, cool guys, and a couple of others who’d had long-term relationships, but the majority of us were. Now, it seemed like everyone I ever spoke to was getting a ton of sex, while I showered alone every morning, fantasising about Lydia walking in on me.
It was getting easier to manage the workload, although I still spent a lot of time reading in my room or in the library, and as the weather slowly improved, I began to really wish I had a girlfriend. Every time I saw a nice-looking girl in the bar, or in a club, I wanted to ‘make a move’, but my thoughts always went back to Lydia and killed any interest I had in anyone else. I knew that, since Lydia was clearly not dumping Mark anytime soon, I needed some separation from her to clear my head and get over it, but I’d just signed up for at least a year living with her, so that was not about to happen.
Lydia still came to some of my football games, which I really appreciated, even though it was the closest thing I had to an actual girlfriend. She even hung out with some of the other players’ girlfriends from time to time, blending in perfectly even though we were just friends. It was impossible not to imagine how amazing it would be if we were a couple, and so my frustration with my whole situation only grew.
Towards the end of term, when we were just starting to look towards the Easter holidays and the question of assignments and homework, on one of our weekly calls Mum brought up her online dating presence.
“I have taken a few pictures to use for my profile and I wondered if you would look at them? Give me a male perspective?”
I would have just rejected this, but she sounded nervous and I didn’t want to crush her.
“I don’t know whether you’re asking the right person, Mum. The kind of guy you want to be dating is nothing like me.”
“Well, I haven’t got any other men to ask, and my friends will just be unhelpful,” she explained. “There’s only a few and they’re boring, really.”
“Okay, sincan escort I can have a look. But I expect so long as you just look like yourself, you’ll be fine.”
As it turned out, she sent three photos and two of them were hopeless. One was a picture of her in the park with a low winter’s sun practically obliterating her (“I thought it was mysterious!”) and another was her at home watching TV which was not attractive at all (“More of a casual one?”). The third, thankfully, was a nice selfie of her after work, made-up and with her hair curled, but still looking work-casual. I told her to use it and she seemed grateful, even though, I reflected, I’d just discussed which photo of my mum would attract men the best.
Mark came to visit Lydia a week before the end of term. Officially guests were supposed to stay no more than two days, but he stayed for most of the week by sneaking in and out around the back of the building. He was a nice enough guy, but I could never shake the feeling of being inferior around him, since he was going out with the girl I wanted to be going out with, and I could tell Lydia felt upset that we didn’t get on better. However, on the last night of his stay, my resentment reached a fever pitch.
I’d finished eating my tea but was procrastinating clearing up my dishes, so I was lying on my bed watching TV. I had some reading to do, but not too much, so I could afford to be lazy. There was a knock on my bedroom door, unexpectedly, so rather than shouting for whoever it was to come in, I sauntered over to answer it.
“Hi, um, I have a kinda awkward question,” Lydia said, letting herself into my room regardless. Once the door was shut, she looked at me. “Me and Mark have run out of condoms, and I was wondering if you had one I could borrow…?”
My heart sank. I know it’s ridiculous, but having physical proof of what they were getting up to really stung. Looking at Lydia, her hair was a little messy and her leggings (why was it always leggings?) were rumpled, like she’d just pulled them on a few minutes ago. Cursing my luck, I put on a smile.
“Um, oh, yeah, I do, hang on,” I said, my desire to please her winning out. I pretended to search through my bedside drawers even though I knew full well there was an unopened box tucked in the bottom. I just wanted her to think I used them so much I could never remember where I put them. Or maybe that was worse, and made it look like I used them so rarely that I didn’t know where they were?
Fishing out the box, I handed it over to her.
“Can I borrow this? I’ll bring back the leftovers,” she asked, jiggling the box in her hand.
“Yeah, that’s fine,” I said, keeping the resignation out of my voice. She gave me a quick happy hug and disappeared again. I immediately grabbed my book and put my headphones in, turning the music up to make sure I definitely didn’t hear anything I didn’t want to.
When the box came back the following day, four condoms were gone. I had no idea how they’d used four in one evening, but I was burning with jealousy. It goes without saying that my next set of mental fantasies centred around Lydia coming to my room and this time, me getting to use the condoms. But they were still only fantasies, and the reality of the situation was that someone else was having sex with her.
Clearly, my obsession with Lydia was starting to become a problem, because even Mum noticed. I made a point of only mentioning Lydia when strictly necessary on the phone, in case Mum got the wrong idea. Finally, when I left for Easter, I said my goodbyes to Lydia in a hurry, since she was going out somewhere just as I left, and I was in a bad mood all the way home on the train, reflecting on how pathetic I was, and obviously I hadn’t cleared the black cloud when I saw Mum on the platform.
“Don’t tell me this is about that girl Lydia,” was the first thing she said, and my immediate denial told her everything she needed to know.
“Come on, we can talk about it at home,” she said, giving me a second hug while other people leaving the platform had to dodge around us. I felt embarrassed but didn’t want to say anything, in case it came across as angry and ruined our first evening back at home together.
She brought up the topic while we were eating tea (baked beans on toast).
“Don’t you think that if Lydia was interested in you, something would have happened by now?” she asked, trying to sound as if she wasn’t prying when she clearly was.
“I don’t know, Mum. It’s complicated.”
She grinned at me. “How complicated can it possibly be?”
I shrugged. “She seems pretty happy with her boyfriend. I just don’t seem to be able to move on.”
This roused Mum’s maternal sympathy and she put down her knife and fork for a second.
“David, honey, you’re too down on yourself. You’re a fit, attractive guy and you should be out having fun with lots of people. Even a few girls,” she said, giving sincan escort bayan me a look. “Spending too long pining after one person isn’t healthy.”
Did my Mum just call me hot? I didn’t dwell on it.
“I know that, I just, I can’t seem to make myself do it. Whenever there might be a chance, I feel like it would be betraying Lydia.”
“She has no problem betraying you with her boyfriend, so why shouldn’t you do it to her?” She chewed a big mouthful of toast as I tried to think of a good response.
“I know, I just-“
“Listen, you need to meet a girl and have a relationship, even if it doesn’t last. It’ll show you that you can live without Lydia and you deserve someone who’s just as interested in you as you are in here. Trust me,” she said, reaching over and squeezing my arm.
“When did you become a relationship expert?” I asked, going back to my beans and toast. I knew what she was saying was true, and resolved that, even if all it meant was that I could avoid future conversations about my pathetic love life with my Mum, I would finally just do it and lose my virginity. It might even be better to do it with a random hookup, since if I was terrible, I wouldn’t need to see her again.
My first step on this path was to try and imagine different girls when I was wanking. There was a fit girl in one of my seminars who I tried to picture, but it felt so much less realistic since I’d onlyspoken to her once ever. I cast around for other girls I knew – girls from school, hot celebrities, even a couple of younger teachers I’d had – but none of them felt real and all felt disappointing. The funk I got myself into, refusing to masturbate over Lydia, reached the stage that by the end of the second week of the break, I’d gone five days without any release and, as a horny eighteen year old, that was torture.
It reached Saturday and, as expected, Mum got me out of bed early.
“Come on, or we’ll miss the quiet period,” she said, flinging my washed swimming kit onto my bed since I hadn’t collected it from the pile of clean laundry since last week. Now I was awake, I was resigned to it, and I dragged myself into the shower, my morning wood as hard as ever, but since we were in a hurry I couldn’t do anything about it.
Initially, it was the same swim as usual, Mum getting in her regular lengths while I alternated between trying to keep up with her in the lanes and doing some diving and underwater swimming practice elsewhere. By the time we’d been in there three-quarters of an hour, my muscles were tired but Mum looked fresh.
“More of an all-round workout than football,” she teased when she saw my exertion. “Are you ready to go?”
She pulled herself up the poolside ladder and dripped water all over me, which I wiped away with one hand as I followed her up. As we turned for the changing rooms, I spotted three girls about my age coming out of the ladies’, all dressed in bikinis and wet from the shower. I ogled all three of them, deciding quickly that the middle one, a busty redhead, was the hottest. They were looking in the opposite direction to me so it wasn’t too creepy to look at them, and I was just trying to burn the image into my head for later use when I bumped into Mum.
She’d stopped suddenly because her swimming goggles had slipped out of her hand and skidded a couple of feet in front of her on the poolside. She bent down to grab them, but since I was looking at a redhead’s bikini and not at where I was going, I collided with her just as she was straightening back up again. My momentum was enough to cause her to lose her balance and start falling forward, but I reacted quickly enough to grab her waist and arrest her fall.
The only problem was, now I had my hands on my mum’s waist, my crotch jammed up against her bum, she was half bent over still, I was semi-hard from looking at those girls and she was wearing just her one-piece swimming costume. Okay, maybe there were several problems. There was a split second of alarm as I registered what was going on, and then I let go and sprang backwards.
“Thanks, love,” she said, standing up straight and turning to look at me. “I didn’t realise you were right behind me, my fault.”
“No, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” I apologised in return, my face burning. She smiled and, saying no more, headed towards the changing rooms. After a few seconds of shame, I went to the men’s to shower and change.
I found the most effective method to get over the incident was just to pretend it never happened, and Mum didn’t mention it either. She chatted away to me all the way home on the bus about how her yoga classes were going, and how she felt good because all the other mums that went weren’t as flexible as she was, while I furiously focused my mind on my holiday assignments to try and keep my mind occupied. Unfortunately, my brain (and body) completely betrayed me when we got home and I jumped into the shower escort sincan to clean off the pool’s chlorine.
Still painfully horny, once I was naked and under the hot water, I could feel myself getting turned on and I started stroking my cock, mind drifting back to that redhead and what I would have given to help her take her bikini top off. It didn’t take long for me to be close to climax, and I imagined her in the pool showers with me, topless, bending over as I stood behind her and prepared to push my cock into her…
And then it happened. The betrayal. My mental image of a slutty redheaded stranger suddenly became an auburn-haired older woman in a one-piece, my cock pressed up against her arse as she arched her back and I moved my hands from her waist onto her bum and…
Yes, I came thinking about Mum. Imagining her. Fantasising about her. And I didn’t just cum, I came hard. Really hard. I sprayed so much that I had to spend a couple of minutes cleaning it off the tiled wall of the shower. I hadn’t cum like that since I was last thinking about Lydia, who now seemed like something from the dim and distant past. The clear-thinking part of my brain was screaming “No!” while the very-turned-on part of my brain was screaming “Yes!” I’d discovered the realistic quality of fantasy that I wanted, the feeling of doing it with someone I actually knew. It just happened to be Mum.
As you can imagine, I spent the rest of the day, and in fact the rest of my time at home, furiously trying to justify it to myself. ‘It’s just a fantasy, it doesn’t matter.’ ‘You’d never act on it, so what’s the harm?’ ‘Even Mum said masturbating was healthy, who cares what’s going on in your head!’ But there was always that other part of me which was very much not okay with this. It felt disgusting, dirty, sick, even. I wondered if, mentally, I was okay or whether I needed to seek help. Normal people did not do this. I desperately wanted to talk to someone about it, get some advice, but who on earth can you tell that you just came thinking about your own mum? Careful internet searches in private mode seemed to yield two points of view. The first was: get help you sick fuck. The second was: it’s natural, you should take it further. There was no way I was going to take it further. Just this, something Mum would never even know about, was bad enough.
Of course, I think I’ve mentioned that I was a horny eighteen-year-old boy. After studiously avoiding Mum all day, staying in my room and focusing madly on my assignments, promising myself over and over again it was just a one-time thing caused by going five days without wanking, and that I was going to find a girlfriend and put this all behind me, when I got into bed that night, I couldn’t sleep. My hand strayed down onto my dick, and, yes, I masturbated and thought about Mum again. This time, I was grinding my cock against her arse and she reached behind, moved the swimsuit to the side and I pushed inside her, hearing her moans.
“You’re so hot, Cathy,” I imagined myself saying to her, and that made me cum. Calling her by her name while we were having sex. Not Mum any more, but my girlfriend, maybe. My fit girlfriend who I had hot sex with. And she was fit – she was in good shape from her swimming and yoga, her boobs were quite big for her petite frame, she had a great bum, and who didn’t like women with red hair? I mean, she’d obviously been popular at school and Dad had been attracted to her enough to get her pregnant as a teenager. This was completely justified.
My mental state over the next week see-sawed between being disgusted with myself and finding it incredibly hot that I was now regularly fantasising about Mum. I caught myself looking at her tits, which admittedly weren’t exactly on display beneath a comfortable jumper, or looking at her bum when she bent over to clean something in a faded pair of jeans. I had barely thought about Lydia in a week, which seemed like a perverse kind of progress, at least, and I was seeking out more incest content online, trying to understand my feelings and decide whether they were normal or not. I was pretty sure they weren’t, but constantly craved any point of view which said they were.
Although I had four weeks off, I’d decided to go back after only three so I could use the library for some reading. This was a lifesaver, because after Mum’s Thursday night yoga class, she came home in a pair of leggings that made her bum look amazing, and since she’d already told me she liked to wear thongs to yoga, I masturbated three times in the next twenty four hours thinking about fucking her in that exact outfit. Our final Saturday morning swimming was torture, every glimpse of her cleavage or her thighs stoking up my fantasies.
“Are you feeling over Lydia yet?” she asked as we made our way to the railway station for my departure. “You haven’t talked about her much.”
“I’m getting there,” I said, trying to stay non-committal since this was touching on an uncomfortable area.
“Have you found someone else to focus on?” she asked, and I looked over at her, alarmed she might have guessed something. But she didn’t seem any different to usual.
“Not really, but I will try,” I told her, desperately hoping that my lingering glances and outright staring hadn’t been noticed.