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By jtmalone70 (jtmalone70@yahoo.com)

Author’s Note: Although I’m not a great fan of purely erotic stories, I wrote this merely as an experiment, trying to delve into the psychology of this particular theme. It is not a true story and in no way reflects my thoughts on the subject.


It happened on a weekend, when I went to visit my son Mark at college. He lived a little less than an hour away, not making it unusual for me to spend the night there, rather than drive home. Sometimes I’d visit for the day and other times to spend an evening, depending on our respective schedules. But regardless what we did or for how long, I was there simply to visit him.

We had a wonderful relationship, and he was never a source of worry or problematic, when he lived at home. And when he moved away, it broke my heart.

My weekend visits were also a way for me to share in his college experience. In a sense, I suppose I was living vicariously through him, albeit more directly. When I was eighteen, I became pregnant with him, my first child, and didn’t graduate from college until I was twenty-six years old. During that time, I brought three more children into the world with my husband and that necessitated me spending the lion’s share of time caring for them.

I took classes when I could here and there, but what I missed out on was the social life of a college student. While my peers were out dancing and going to parties, I was at home changing diapers. Not that I felt somehow cheated out of my rightful due, rather visiting Mark afforded me the opportunity to occasionally sample the lifestyle I never had the chance to partake in.

Sometimes we’d catch a movie, maybe go out to dinner and stop by a nearby bar for some dancing, and other times we’d go someplace quiet and talk, catching up and exchanging stories from school and home. Maybe it was bowling, Frisbee golf, or going for a bike ride. We rarely made definite plans, preferring to go along with wherever the time and mood took us.

It was the weekend before the start of spring break of his sophomore year. His dad and I had plans for Saturday, so I drove up to visit Mark Friday evening with the intent on spending the night and driving home in the morning.

He had just turned 21 years old and, standing at a solid six feet, towered over me by a good seven inches. He was built like his dad: large and strong and with the same jovial demeanor and ever-present smile on his face. All mothers like to say it, and I’m no different, but Mark was a very handsome young man. He had a serious girlfriend named Beth, and I don’t think there was a doubt in anyone’s mind that they would probably wed one day.

When I did go to visit him, sometimes I stayed in his room in the resident hall, although at times it could be quite noisy there long into the night on the weekends. So there were occasions when I’d get a hotel room, in order to get a solid night of sleep. On this particular weekend, I stayed with Mark in his room.

Something else I should mention is that I have a tendency to move around quite a bit in my sleep. More than a few times, I’d toss and turn so much, that I’d roll right out of bed and onto the floor with a heavy thump, usually bonking my head. At home, my husband and I had our bed against a wall. I’d sleep on the inside, while he slept on the outside, thus preventing me from rolling out.

When I stayed with Mark, he did likewise, sleeping next to me in his small dorm room bed. Even though he never said as much, I knew he didn’t like it. He was a big fella after all, and with two of us in his tiny bed, and compound on that my incessant movement during the night, he probably didn’t get much sleep.

And so it was on that Friday night, after we had returned to his room from an evening of dancing at the bars, that we crawled into bed and went to sleep. Very early, in the wee hours of the morning, I awoke briefly and rolled over, facing Mark. When I did so, my hand inadvertently landed on his groin. And in that moment of semi-consciousness, I realized he had an erection under his shorts. Of course, in that state of mind, it didn’t quite click as to whom it was sleeping next to me.

At home in bed with my husband, there had been numerous times over the years that something very similar had happened. I snuggled up closer to Mark, still unaware it was him, and slipped my hand under the waistband of his shorts, wrapping my fingers around him. I remember smiling to myself and began slowly stroking him, still lying there with my eyes closed and my mind half asleep. I felt his chest rise and he began to stir ever so slightly. Sensing he was enjoying the sensations I was giving him, I carefully pushed his shorts down with my hand, and resumed stroking him.

He was long and very rigid, very warm. I suppose in my mind, I thought I was at home with my husband. So when Mark put his hands on mine, still firmly wrapped around his cock, I simply allowed him to do as he wished. With both his hands on mine, he began gently thrusting his hips, driving his cock through my fingers. And after another minute or so, he groaned and I felt his cock swell and begin spurting. After he came, I remember smiling in my state of semi-sleep, and running my hand all over his chest. Then I drifted off into unconsciousness.

I’m not sure how much time had passed, but the next thing I recall, I was lying on my back and felt an intense tingling between my legs. I moaned softly and spread my knees, probably thinking it was a wonderful wet dream. Then I felt something enter me. My mind was still in a haze, and I spread my knees further and reached down between my legs.

To my surprise, I felt a hand already there, two fingers massaging deep inside me. It didn’t even dawn on me to wonder who was doing this. It felt so good, that I didn’t even care. When my orgasm struck, I whimpered and snapped my legs tightly around the hand giving me so much pleasure. And then I drifted once more into sleepy oblivion.

When I awoke, Mark was sleeping soundly next to me. I slowly sat up, wiping the sleep from my eyes, and looked around. The sun was already shining brightly through the window. I looked over at the clock on his desk and, when I saw the time, I jumped out of bed. It was nearly 10am and I was supposed to be home by 11am. Mark sat up, still groggy, and watched me search for my clothes. I still had on my blouse, though it was completely unbuttoned and hanging open. The straps of my bra were also hanging down my shoulders, allowing my breasts to jiggle loosely in the cups.

"Where’s my panties?" I asked, frantically searching around on the floor. I was in such a hurry that I pushed aside any pause to consider why I wasn’t wearing them. And I didn’t care that my own son was watching me nude from the waist down.

He made a tentative movement to look around on the bed, but I found them on the floor and quickly stepped into them.

"Your shorts are over there," he said softly, pointing to the door to his room. "Ok, thanks," I replied, hastily buttoning my blouse, and then walked over to retrieve my shorts. I slipped them up my legs, and then went back to his bed and sat down, pulling on my shoes. Mark lay there leaning on one elbow watching me.

When my shoes were on, I stepped over to his mirror and quickly checked my hair. Then I grabbed my purse off his desk and shot for the door. Just as I opened it, I turned around. He was staring at me with a slightly confused smile on his face. I grinned briefly, and then closed his door and walked back over to him. Leaning down, I gave him a quick peck on the forehead, told him I loved him, and that I’d see him in a few days, when he came home for spring break.

It wasn’t until I was at last driving home that I had time to take in everything that had happened. It all started to slowly come back to me. At first I wondered about not having my panties on, and that led to trying to recall what had transpired during the night. I was sitting at a red light when suddenly I thought, "Oh God! Did he fuck me?!"

With no other cars around, I quickly turned into a gas station and jumped out of the car, dashing for the restroom. Inside, I locked the door behind me and unzipped my shorts. My hands were trembling with fear, as I pushed down my panties. I used my fingers to gingerly spread myself open, hoping I wouldn’t find any sign that we’d had intercourse during the night; that is, there wouldn’t be any semen. I felt around on the outside, and carefully slipped a finger into myself. I sighed in relief, when it came out with nothing clinging to it. Then I quickly dressed and resumed the drive home.

For the next forty-five minutes, I thought about what we had done. It all seemed like a dream, but a very real and vivid one. For my part, if I can plead any kind of defense, I had no idea where I was or what I was doing. Did Mark? That’s what I wondered. Did he remove my panties or did I? In that state of mind, I very well could have done it.

There’d been more than a few times when my husband and I had sex during the night and, come morning, I didn’t recall much of it. My bedtime clothes would be scattered on the floor of our bedroom, but I didn’t recall taking them off, though I know I must have. I told myself it would be ok. It wasn’t like we had sex. It was merely a momentary lapse in judgment when both of our capacities for rational thought weren’t functioning at their fullest.

I began to wonder what Mark was thinking about all of this. Was he mad? No, I thought, he couldn’t be. He must have known what he was doing, when he had his fingers inside me. And, God, was that an intense orgasm. The more I thought about it, the less it bothered me; the more I came to accept it. And by the time I arrived home, I was actually trying to relive some of it in my mind; trying to recall the intense pleasure I had felt, both in giving and receiving.

The next day, around noon, the phone rang and my husband answered it. I came out of my office to the living room where he sat. He was talking to Mark. I sat on the steps next to the couch and listened, and when my husband saw me, he smiled, as he talked with our son.

"Ok," he said. "No problem. See ya later. Bye."