Words of encouragement to sons who want to fuck their mothers.

Those are the words I wrote in my diary the first time my son caught me masturbating in my room. So many things have happened that day and now. So many things. I feel so horny and excited just relishing the romantic things between me and my son.  

Today, my son got gutsier and more reckless than ever. He used to be very cautious when “spying” on me while I was pleasuring myself but earlier today he just couldn’t abstain himself. Curiosity got the best of him I guess.

I was laying down on my bed, wearing a tiny Tee without my panties on and pleasuring myself with my vibrator when I noticed the bedroom door being opened. I knew it was my son and so I decided to pretend not to notice and continued to work on bringing myself to an orgasm. I was more vocal than usual. I even moaned my son’s name and I tasted myself a couple times while playing with my breasts with the other hand.

I know my son loves to watch porn in his room and I figured, it’s better for me to be his personal porn star and let him watch me to his heart’s content.

My son tried to pull out and I wrapped my legs around him and told him no.

Today, my son made the mistake of asking for permission. So cute of him. My son is such a sweet boy, but I had to tell him, with his mother, he doesn’t need to. Don’t ask. Just do it.

I’ve been in one of those moods all day. I am ovulating. Yes, I am still a very fertile woman, and when it’s one of those days, I just want there to be a problem. My son is the careful type, always ready to reach for that little foil pocket, always doing the responsible pulling-out-thing right at the end so he doesn’t accidentally breed mommy.

I didn’t tell him about the timing. I just made sure there was nothing between us and dared him with a look to say something about it. He didn’t. Of course he didn’t.

Right there at the end, as my son was fucking me, I felt him start to pull back again. That instinct kicked in. I locked my legs around him and dug my heels in and said “No. Right here.” Mommy wanted it. I squeezed until he had no say in it at all.

Watching that panic-then-surrender-thing happen on his face while he emptied his balls into me was exactly where I wanted. Then I held him there and told him to stay put, because I wasn’t letting a drop of that go to waste. He asked, all shaky, if that was okay and said in almost a soliloquy: “I hope I didn’t make you pregnant, mom.”

That was the entire point.

Confessing my desires to my son

A lot of people keep on asking how my son and I started our relationship. It’s actually very complicated. I was divorced and going through a difficult period. I slept around with lots of different men who didn’t really care for me. My son was lonely as well. There were so many reasons. But thinking back to all the things that happened, I think one event really stood out.

As usual I was doing my son’s laundry and I had the habit of sniffing my son’s underwear. I sniffed his socks as well. I don’t really know why, to be honest. One time I saw cum stain on my son’s underwear and I sniffed at it and it smelled so good I decided to lick it. And my son caught me doing it. He asked me what I was doing. I just kind of waved it off and said that it smelled weird. 

Well, since that event, I think, that was when I noticed that my son started to become more aggressive with me. Aggressive in the sense that my son would spank my bare ass when I’m half naked. Touch my breasts. Massage my legs. I kinda knew that my son was sexually attracted to me. One time while we were playing truth or dare, he asked me: if you had to save your son’s life and the only way to do it is to have sex with your own son, would you do it? And I told him “yes, I would,” because I love my son so much, so much more even than my own life, that “I’d do it in a heartbeat.” 

It was not just all sexual stuffs. My son has always been so romantic. He buys me flowers every day. He takes me out to fancy dinner dates and compliments me about my looks. He says I’m even hotter than the hottest girl at school. He also introduces me to all his friends and all of his friends tell him that he is so lucky to have “such a hot MILF for a mother.” When we go shopping together we hold hands and he picks out the sexiest dress for me and I put them on and parade in front of him. He is like the kind of man I was never able to find anywhere else. 

There were just so much sexual tension between my son and me I don’t even know which event was the catalyst that started it all. My son used to make me suck on his fingers like it was his cock. He would make a hand gesture with his middle finger and stick it inside my mouth. It was a dare and being a good sport, I did it. At the time I didn’t think that I would ever be sucking on my son’s cock for real. I felt that my son was just interested in sex and I played along, because I didn’t want him to feel mysterious about women. I didn’t stop my son when he touched my pussy and asked me why my pussy was shaped the way it was, and I felt like I was giving him a sex education by letting him look at it. 

My son also liked to play wrestling and often practiced wrestling moves on me, by flipping me upside down, making me bury my face into his crotch, or throwing me on the floor, lifting my legs and making me tap out in submission. Come to think of it, all of those things were definitely very sexual in nature, especially, during the summer, when I was dressed in very skimpy clothes and my son and I had a lot of skin to skin contact. Besides, I do like the smell of my son’s crotch, and when I caught sniff of it, it always made me feel mesmerized, like I was in love.

But that was not all. There were many other things. A few times my son would ask me to examine his cock because he said he felt insecure about his cock, and when I decided to take a look at it, he wiped his cock out and it was fully hard.

On some other occasions he would ask me for truth, asking me about my sexual fantasies, my sexual desires, what kind of sex position I’ve done with other men, etc. And I’ve always been 100% honest with him. 

So all in all, I really can’t explain it. It just happened. It’s like trying to explain love. All I know is my son loves me, and I love my son. My son fulfills me in ways no other man has ever been able to.

I took my son out on a luxury cruise ship vacation after he got into Harvard.

As an Asian mom, I’ve always been proud of the fact that I pushed my son to work as hard as possible in school, and my son has always been so obedient, and he has never really let me down. He enjoyed studying. He loved the struggle of solving difficult math problems. Even when he had spare time, he spent hours reading college-level books on philosophy, economy, political science, as a hobby.

Being Asian myself, I know the game is stacked against him on college applications. But I never doubted him. He had a perfect SAT score, and he is a straight A student in school. Even then, when he told me that he was applying to Harvard, my heart skipped a beat. I told him “You can do it” but I also knew Ivy Leagues generally don’t accept Asian students, well, at least Asian students from families who are not the elite-billionaire class.

So you can imagine the overwhelming joy I felt when my son has gotten in. The acceptance letter from the most prestigious university in the entire world—Harvard University—that paper that was so light in my hand and yet so heavy in my heart, in all of our hearts.

I couldn’t repress the outpouring of my excitement when I heard the news. I shouted at my son: “You have made me so proud. So very very proud!” I hugged him tightly in my arms, as my face rested against his manly chest, as tears of joy filled my eyes. I knew I had to do something special for my son to celebrate this occasion.

A few weeks later, I decided to reserve two tickets to a luxury cruises ship with a private balcony suite for me and my son. “It’s just for the two of us,” I told him, while caressing his head.

He looked a little surprised and repeated, “Just the two of us?”

“Just the two of us. You’ve earned this, and I have always wanted to have a vacation too. But don’t worry about me. You can do whatever you want.”

“Anything I want?”

“Yes! No matter what you want to do, I will support you and love you. And I will never say no to you, because you are the apple of my eye, the love of my life.”

Our eyes met and I felt this immense feeling of comfort being around my son, the feeling of pride, joy, excitement, and, dare I say, even a tiny bit feeling of romance, like I was in love all over again.

At that moment, I didn’t think much about anything else. I had no reason to be suspicious. Without ever realizing it, that trip changed everything between me and my son.

A month later, we were at the Port, the summer sun beating down on our backs as the ship—a massive ten-story masterpiece of white and gold—towered before us. My son and I walked through the check-in area, along with thousands of other passengers. For the first time in years, I actually have gone on a vacation, and I took deep breathe, as if the air itself has become lighter, as we crossed the metal gang plank.

“Well, let’s go see our suite.” He said.

That was when everything began to change.

The suite was breathtaking, even more so than the photos. A king-size bed dominated the center of the room, dressed in crisp white satin sheets that glowed beneath the soft bedside lamps. Beyond it, the private balcony overlooked the endless ocean, where the setting sun painted the water in shades of orange and pink.

I was wearing a tight blue dress that accentuated my curves and despite of me being in my late 30s, I’m proud to say that, as an Asian woman, I can easily pass for 20 year-olds. I’ve had lots of suitors over the years, but after my divorce, I’ve devoted nearly all my time to raising and caring for my son, and so I never had the chance to date another man. In some way, I always joked, my son is my surrogate husband.

2.

Looking at my watch, I said, “The captain’s gala dinner is tonight. Everyone dresses up for the first night, and we definitely don’t want to be late. I’m going to get ready.”

In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have, but I decided to change right there in front of my son. I slid my dress down my body, revealing the black lingerie set that I was wearing. Then I put on a red evening gown with high side-slits that exposed half of thighs.

“What do you think?” I asked, spinning toward my son with a small smile.

My son stood there, as if transfixed.

“You are so beautiful, mom.”

I felt so flattered I kissed my son lightly on the cheeks. His eyes traveled slowly over me, like he was appraising me.

“Now it’s your turn,” I said, nodding toward the suit hanging in the closet. “Come on. We can’t be late.”

I helped my son slip into the suit that I had brought for him for graduation. Then I sprayed a little Dior on his neck, and once he was completely dressed up, I looked up and almost froze. My face went completely still, as if I didn’t recognize my own son. “I’m so proud of you. You are so handsome. You’ve become a real man.”

I rose onto my tiptoes and pressed my lips to my son’s cheek, lingering there a second longer than usual.

“Tonight,” I whispered, giving his tie one final, gentle adjustment, “You’ll be my man.”

Without me even realizing it, that compliment, half-jokingly said, would change everything.

The main ballroom of the cruise ship was a spectacle of pure opulence. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, scattering golden light over champagne flutes and the elegant dresses of the women. An orchestra played a soft waltz in the background while couples swayed in perfect harmony across the dance floor. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, polished wood, and the salty sea breeze drifting in through the open windows.

And then me and my son appeared. My son and I stepped into view as if the entire room had brightened just for us. The red dress clung to my body like a second skin, stopping every man in his tracks. The high side slit revealed my thigh with each step, and the plunging neckline dared anyone to look away. My lips, painted a deep, rich red, glistened as if I had just sipped wine.

Everyone noticed. And I knew it.

When we reached the entrance, the host—a tall man in a flawless tuxedo—greeted us with a polished smile. “Good evening, couple,” he said, gesturing inside. “Your table is ready.”

I didn’t correct him. I simply smiled, my fingers tightening gently around his arm, and whispered, “He thinks we’re a couple.”

I should have felt embarrassed. I should have laughed and said, “No, he is my son,” like any normal person would. But I didn’t. Because at that moment, I didn’t care.

Then my son turned to me, his eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and something far more dangerous, he murmured, “Maybe he’s not wrong.”

My heart stopped.

Our table was by the windows, offering a view of the dark sea beyond. I sat down first, crossing my legs in a way that drew every eye to the slit in my dress. My son took the seat across from me.

A waiter appeared almost immediately, pouring ice-cold champagne.

“To you, my man,” I said, raising my glass toward him.

My son did the same, but his hand trembled slightly.

I noticed.

“Nervous?” I asked, tilting my head.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Look around.”

I did.

That’s when it hit me. We were the only ones who weren’t a couple. Everyone else—husbands and wives, boyfriends and girlfriends, fiancées—were touching, whispering, exchanging intimate glances. And there we were, pretending we weren’t what we were.

“They’re all staring at you.”

“No, my love. They’re staring at us.”

After dinner—a sophisticated dish I barely touched—the orchestra began playing a waltz. My son finished his food and stood, extending his hand to me.

“Dance with me,” my son said. It wasn’t a request. It was a command.

I hesitated for a second, then took it.

The moment his hand settled on my waist, I felt the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of my dress. I placed my other hand on his shoulder.

“Do you even know how to dance, mom?” He murmured, his warm breath brushing my ear. “Let me teach you.”

And he did.

His steps were smooth and precise. I let him guide me, my feet following his as if we had done this a thousand times before. The music wrapped around us, and suddenly the rest of the room disappeared. There was only us, the scent of my son’s perfume, and the way his body moved against mine.

“You’re too tense, mom. Relax.”

“Where on earth did you learn to dance so well?”

“Shhh … it’s a secret.”

“If someone saw us right now,” I whispered, my lips close to his ear and my voice was like a caress, “What do you think they would assume?”

He didn’t answer.

I couldn’t either.

The music shifted to something slower, more intimate—a song meant for getting lost in. I didn’t pull away. Instead, I pressed closer, my body now molded to his with no space left for doubt.

“Do you want to know what they’re thinking, mom?”

“What?”

“We’re lovers.”

I laughed softly. “Then I’m yours, my man. And you’re mine.”

His body reacted instantly and I could feel his arousal poking at me.

“Oh … Mom …” He started, but I cut him off.

“No. Tonight, I’m not your mother. I’m just a woman. And you’re just a man.”

A stranger approached. He was an older man, elegant, wearing a tuxedo that probably cost more than my son’s car. “May I steal your partner for a moment?” he asked, smiling at me with confidence.

I didn’t look at him. I just smiled. “Sorry, but I’ve already promised this dance to someone else.”

The man didn’t back down. “A woman as beautiful as you shouldn’t be tied to just one partner all night.” His gaze drifted down my body, lingering over on my entire body.

That’s when I felt my son’s hands tightened on my waist, pulling me firmly against him in a way that left no room for misunderstanding: I was his.

“She already has an escort. And she’s not interested.”

The man raised his eyebrows, surprised by the reaction. Then he laughed as if it were all a joke and stepped back. “Alright, alright. Didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

When he walked away, I didn’t move. I stayed there, trapped in my son’s arms, breathing fast.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did. Because it’s true.”

I swallowed hard. My eyes dropped to his lips, and I knew.

There was no turning back.

I don’t know who moved first. Maybe it was me, leaning in that single centimeter. Maybe it was my son, finally losing control after a whole night of teasing. All I knew was that suddenly our lips met, and the world stopped.

It wasn’t a sweet kiss. It wasn’t a mother’s kiss. It was hunger. It was lust. It was years of stolen glances, accidental touches, latent desires we had never dared to admit.I let out a soft moan against his mouth, my hands sliding up his chest and gripping his lapels as if I wanted to pull him inside my body. His hands ran down my back, feeling the heat of my skin through the thin fabric, stopping just above my ass. Then it happened. Suddenly, his tongue thrusted into my mouth and I felt my own tongue being stretched out of my mouth. His hand moved down to my ass and grabbed a fistful of my flesh. I felt the muscles around my pelvis tighten and a heat wave was radiating from the center of my body.

“Stop,” I whispered against his lips.

But he didn’t stop. And neither did I.

The music kept playing. The other couples kept dancing as if nothing had happened. But our world had just shattered. When we finally pulled apart, my lips were swollen and my eyes were hazy. The bulge inside his pants were prominent and visible.

“This can’t happen again,” I said, my voice trembled.

He didn’t answer.

Because we both knew it was a lie.

The walk back to the suite was silent. Not an awkward silence, but a heavy one—like any word could break the spell.

I walked ahead of him, my heels clicking against the floor, my red dress swaying with every step. He followed. When we reached the room, I closed the door harder than necessary.

“That was a mistake,” I said, turning to face him. But my eyes told a different story. As I sat on the edge of the bed, my fingers trembling slightly as I untied the straps of my heels. The red dress, now wrinkled where his hands had gripped it, still clung to my curves like a second skin. He watched in silence as I let the shoes drop to the floor with a dull thud, as if disarming something dangerous.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” I murmured, more to myself than to him. My fingers toyed with the edge of my neckline, as if trying to hide what had already been revealed.

He approached me slowly, unbuttoning his suit jacket with deliberate movements, as if each gesture might wake me from a dream. The fabric slipped off his shoulders and fell to the floor. He stood before me shirtless as I traced his chest, his stomach, mesmerized by every inch of his bare skin.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

I shook her head but didn’t answer.

“But didn’t you say … I can do anything I wanted on this cruise. You will never say no to any of my demands … no matter what it is.”

I reached out and touched his abdomen, my cool fingers against his warm skin. A shiver ran down my spine, as if he had lit a fire inside me I didn’t know how to put out.

“I just… I don’t know what happened to me. This isn’t right. It’s not normal.”

“I want you tonight as my woman. And you are not allowed to say no.”

I knelt down in front of him, gently holding his belt buckle in a caress. My eyes were wet, but not with sadness—with fear. Fear of what we had done. Fear of what might still happen.

“Do you feel safe with me?”

“With you? Of course. Always.”

But before he had a chance to hold me, I pulled away with a shaky sigh and stood up.

“I’m going to take a shower,” I announced, as if the water could wash the sin from my lips.

He nodded, watching as I disappeared into the bathroom.

He was left alone in the room, my scent still lingering in the air. He took off the rest of his suit, and sat on the edge of the bed.

The sound of running water filled the silence.

The way my lips had parted under his, hungry, as if I had waited for it my whole life.

The muffled moan I let out when his hand slid down my back, grabbing my asss, like I was sinking into something forbidden.

The way my body had pressed against his, as if it belonged there, as if it had always been HIS.

It was real. It wasn’t a dream. But it felt like one.

The water stopped. My bare feet on the wet marble floor. My heart raced. Slowly, I opened the bathroom door, and I emerged from the shadows of the wave of warm steam, carrying me toward him. Moon was now sliding over my damp bare skin. No towel. No modesty. I was completely naked in front of him.

3.

I didn’t dare look at my son. Instead, I ran my hands through my wet hair, twisting the ends with fingers that trembled slightly. I knew my son was staring at my naked form. I knew he couldn’t possibly look away. And when I finally turned my head, our eyes met. There was no shame. No regret. There was something worse.

Desire. Lust. Forbidden love.

I walked toward the bed, my hips swaying in a way that wasn’t accidental. When I turned to lie down, the moonlight illuminated everything. I pulled the cover up to my waist, as if I could still try to hide anything from him.

But it was too late. And I knew it.

I turned off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. The only light came from the moonlight reflecting off the sea, filtering through the curtains and painting my body in silver.

I slipped into bed, keeping some distance. My son lay down beside me, his back to me at first.

“Tonight was… incredible,” I whispered in the dark.

He turned to face me. “Did you like it?”

I hesitated, then nodded. “More than I should have.”

Silence.

I moved close enough for my lips to brush against his–a quick, almost innocent peck. “Good night, son.”

He didn’t move. He didn’t speak.

But before closing my eyes, I murmured, sotto voce. “Tomorrow we’ll pretend this never happened.”

Because we both knew the truth. Nothing would ever be the same again.