Swimming with Mum

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, 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 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 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.

“Next time you come home it will be for the summer!” Mum says, sounding excited. “It’ll be great to have you back for an extended time. And, you can go back to mowing the lawn, which I hate.” She grins, and I smile back, laughing a little. Even with my weird little fantasies, I still loved her for being my Mum and knew that I could rely on her.

My self-control about not obsessing about Lydia lasted until the first time I saw her after I got back, on a warm afternoon when she was wearing a summery dress which was working hard to contain her boobs. I realised, with a sinking feeling, that my attempts to stop thinking about her had just meant that now I had two women to fantasize about instead of one. It doesn’t bear thinking about, how many times I masturbated and thought about them, even though my rational brain was yelling at me to stop. I badly needed a girlfriend, I decided, and deliberately signed myself up for a football team social on Saturday night. I was going to pull someone no matter what, I told myself.

This daring plan was totally derailed by a phone call from my dad in the middle of the week.

“Listen, Dave, I’m actually visiting a mate to pick something up in Sheffield on Saturday and I wondered if you’d be around?”

I hesitated. It was too cold to say no, so I hastily tried to think of something we could do to keep him away from embarrassing me in front of my friends. Luckily, he got there first.

“I thought we could go out somewhere for lunch and then spend the afternoon in town?”

“Okay, yeah, I can do that.”

So far, so good, until he dropped the bombshell.

“And listen, Dave, you’d be doing me a massive favour if I could just kip overnight on the floor of your flat? I can’t face a hotel.”

My heart sank. So much for a Saturday night out on the pull.

“Okay, yeah, that should be fine,” I said, but my half-hearted tone was obvious.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll keep myself to myself,” Dad insisted. “I’ll go for a walk if you’ve got a lady friend to entertain.”

“Not a problem, Dad, just… never say that again,” I told him, through gritted teeth.

The strange thing was, my Dad was actually quite cool. Unlike some people’s parents, who were mostly into crosswords and weeding the garden, he liked motorbikes, women and booze. He was tall, like me, with a shaved head and he was still in shape from all his work on the rig. I could see why he never had any problem finding women, but unfortunately, the appeal of the older man overshadowed whatever I was offering.

When Dad arrived at the flat, an overnight bag over his shoulder, we stopped in the kitchen for a drink and Lydia, plus a couple of girlfriends, looked in on us. All three of the girls got giggly when they got introduced to Dad, who turned on the charm and did plenty of flirting, acting shocked at how good they looked.

“Back in my day, uni girls all wore cardigans and no makeup,” he said, chuckling as he sipped his tea. “Maybe I need to look into one of these degrees.”

This sent them all into another giggling fit and, once they’d torn themselves away, I gave Dad a dark look, which he ignored.

“Tell you what, that one with the glasses is something, huh?” he said, grinning at me.

“That’s Lydia, she lives in the room next to mine,” I said. “And she has a boyfriend.”

Dad shrugged. “At your age, boyfriends don’t mean anything,” he said dismissively.

“She’s half your age, Dad, you should know better,” I tried.

“No harm in looking!” he laughed, patting my shoulder. “Listen, mate, if I were you I’d forget about this so-called boyfriend and see about getting my end away with her. If nothing else, it’ll give you something to look back on when you’re my age.”

I feigned being sick, but I was a guy who fantasized about his own mum, so who was I to be handing out the advice on what was right or wrong.

There was no way I could face the football social with my dad tagging along, and leaving him in my room on his own wasn’t fair, so instead I took him out to a quiet local pub for a couple of drinks. There was no chance for me to pull, since I was the youngest guy in there, but I hadn’t accounted for a gaggle of middle-aged office workers who were having a leaving do for one of their colleagues. Dad latched on to a group of women sharing a bottle of white wine and worked his magic, meaning that by closing time, he was sharing a taxi with a dark-haired woman who was at least close to his own age, and I walked home on my own.

Don’t wait up! Dad texted me, and I ignored it. I had to be the only guy in the world who was going to be alone on Saturday night while his own Dad scored with a woman he just met. Absolutely sickening.

I wasn’t in the best mood, obviously, when I got back, but one ray of light was the fact that Lydia was sitting in the kitchen, wrapped in a dressing gown.

“I thought you were out with the girls?” I asked moodily, grabbing some cereal from the cupboard.

“Imogen got sick, I think someone might’ve tried to spike her drink,” Lydia explained. “We took her back to her flat and put her to bed, but it ruined the night, really.”

I just grunted in response, and Lydia picked up on my mood.

“Where’s your dad?” she asked.

“Out,” I said flatly.

She studied my expression, but couldn’t resist teasing me. “If I’d known your dad was so hot, I would’ve changed my plans,” she grinned.

I slumped into the chair opposite her and shook my head in disbelief. “Not you too,” I said, defeated.

“He’s not really my type,” Lydia reassured me, “But you should’ve heard Imogen going on and on about him. She practically wet her pants when he said that thing about cardigans.”

Lydia had been giggling just as much as the others, but I decided I had to forgive if I was going to move on.

“He’s always had a way with women,” I admit, sighing. “Don’t tell him about her being interested, it’ll only encourage him.”

Lydia smirked. “I expect she’ll only take it as far as her imagination,” she said suggestively, “I mean, if she wasn’t so sick.”

Hot uni girls fantasize about my dad, but I can’t get any action. Perfect.

I sat, brooding, for a few minutes more, and then Lydia got up.

“I’m going to bed. Might as well make the most of not being hungover in the morning and get up early,” she said. “Might see you around?”

I just nodded, watching her go. I was too gutted even to masturbate, and the icing on the cake of the crap weekend was when Dad just texted to say Thanks for seeing me, I’m gonna get a train straight from Shirley’s, talk soon and Lydia got invited to a theatre event so I didn’t even see her on Sunday.

Exams consumed what was left of the term, which meant there was hardly any socialising, and even my study sessions with Lydia really meant studying, instead of talking and pretending to study. I repeatedly told myself that I’d finally score the shag I wanted at the post-exam blowout parties, but Lydia finished her exams three days before mine and immediately went to stay with Mark for a week. We texted, of course, but a lot of my texts went unanswered and I got the impression she was having a lot more fun than I was.

Finally, I got myself out for a football social after my exams finished. We were starting with a bar crawl and then hitting some clubs, and I made every preparation to get some action. Aftershave, a new haircut, my best clothes. By the time we arrived at the first nightclub, I’d had plenty to drink and felt confident, and I couldn’t believe my good luck when I got chatting with a good-looking girl in a tight red dress while we were waiting at the bar.

“I’m Tanya,” she practically shouted into my ear over the music.

“Dave,” I replied, then had to repeat it because she didn’t hear it.

I let her go first to get her drinks, but as she collected them, I realised I was missing my chance.

“Do you want to dance?” I shouted at her before she could go.

“Okay,” she replied, nodding but not smiling. “Let me give these to my mates, first.”

She disappeared into the crowd and, once I had my drink, I stayed near the bar and waited for her to come back. You probably already guessed it, knowing my luck, but she never returned, and even when I wandered around the club, I couldn’t see her anywhere. Eventually I concluded she must have left, and saved my ego by convincing myself it was because her friends wanted to leave, not because she was repulsed by me.

Half an hour before closing, I was so desperate that I started hitting on a woman with tons of piercings who was definitely not my type at all. She seemed receptive, and I was completely smashed, so I kept it up until my mates arrived, took one look at her, and dragged me away despite my protests. I woke up the next morning with regrets, a hangover, an empty wallet and still no idea how I’d spent an entire year at uni and not even had sex once. I consoled myself with elaborate daydreams about getting rid of Mark and Lydia falling into bed with me, but even that was growing tiresome. The summer break was three months long, and I’d have to spend all three of them in a small house with Mum, trying to pretend I didn’t think she was hot.

The summer break was pure sexual torture. The object of my dreams who I might be able to get (Lydia) was too far away, and her texts got sparser and shorter as the summer went on. The other object of my dreams was way too close for comfort. Weekly swimming, which Mum looked forward to so much, started to turn into something I dreaded. I forced myself to cum in the shower before we left, so I would feel as far away from horny as possible, but this only annoyed Mum (“you can shower there!”) and didn’t do me much good anyway. By the time we’d travelled to the pool, got changed and I saw her in her swimming costume, I was back to lusting after her. She looked gorgeous, her curvy figure accentuated by the tight-fitting costume, and in the few moments I wasn’t staring at her myself, I could see middle-aged dads checking her out too. I felt grossed out by this, but I was hardly any better myself. It would be so much easier if Mum was just a total stranger at the pool, so I could admire her guilt-free like all those other guys. But it was my curse to have to go home with her afterwards.

I’ll be completely honest here: I was a horny mess. By the end of July, whether it was the hot nights or the total lack of sex in my life, ever, or even just some hormonal cycle, I was practically turned on every minute I wasn’t asleep. And even then, I occasionally woke up feeling like I must have just had a sexual dream, but unfortunately I couldn’t remember it. When Mum was at work during the week I could put on headphones and masturbate to porn on my laptop as much as I wanted, but that was getting boring. A couple of slightly-drunk text messages to Lydia which were flirty didn’t get any response. I’d even gone as far as looking up some girls from my old school and thinking about messaging them, but that seemed way too desperate considering most of them had barely liked me in the first place. All of this constant horniness had built up to a climax I didn’t see coming, and it needed an outlet. That outlet came one night, very suddenly, and it was a night which would change my life.

It was a Friday night and Mum had been working until fairly late. When she came in, she was carrying fish and chips and apologised for the delay – apparently there had been a double-booking for Monday or something and she’d had to stay and help sort it out. In an attempt to not feel so horny, and to take my mind off morning swimming, I’d actually tried to do some of my summer assignments that day, so actually I didn’t mind the delay. It was the start of the weekend for Mum, so we watched TV and she finished half a bottle of wine, complaining loudly about one of her colleagues while I pretended to listen, sipping my way through two cans of beer. Mum had changed out of her work clothes into comfy pyjamas and, while she still looked amazing, it wasn’t exactly sexy enough to get my mind racing and keep my attention.

“I’m absolutely exhausted, I’m going to run a bath,” she eventually announced, apparently unable to face the prospect of the ten o’clock news. “You gonna stay down here?”

I shrugged. “Probably for a bit.”

“Turn the volume down a few notches so you don’t disturb the neighbours,” she said as she ambled off, taking her empty wine glass with her. I heard the fridge door open, which meant she was getting the rest of the bottle to drink in the bath, then she went upstairs.

I thought no more about it, distracted by something I was reading on my phone, until about half an hour later, when the TV was reading out the weather forecast, a message popped up on my phone.

Mum: Did you turn the TV down? x

I rolled my eyes and turned the volume right down with the remote. I wasn’t watching it, anyway, only keeping it on so I didn’t have to sit in silence.

Me: Just did, sorry

There was a lull and I went back to reading my article, interrupted when my phone went off again.

Mum: Still haven’t had any messages from decent men on my online dating app!! Meant to tell you earlier but I forgot x

Me: You don’t need to keep me informed about your online dating

Mum: I’m always interested in your love life

Me: Too interested!

Mum: Surely I’m not too old yet that you think I’m disgusting?

Me: You know I don’t think that, you look amazing, any guy would be lucky to date you

Mum: Do you mean that? 🙂

Me: Yeah

Mum: Maybe I could get to know a guy from the pool, there always seem to be some who are interested

Me: Seriously?

Mum: Why not? At least we’d have one thing in common

Me: What if they’re all perverts or whatever, picking up women at the pool

Mum: And you think guys online dating aren’t?

Me: True!

Mum: Anyway I know that they aren’t all perverts

Me: How can you possibly know that

Mum: Maybe they’re just sexually frustrated!

Me: Old guys always are

Mum: Who said he was old?!

I had to take a pause here. My heart had started beating fast and I felt a flutter of nerves. What was going on? Were we flirting? Was Mum implying she knew I looked at her when we were swimming? There definitely weren’t any other guys there who were my age, but maybe she just meant a guy in his twenties or thirties. I was convinced I was overthinking it.

Me: The leisure centre isn’t exactly full of young people, everyone goes to the new gym in the retail park

Mum: I bet nobody is sexually frustrated there!

Me: Ha ha. I definitely wouldn’t want to use the changing rooms if they hadn’t been cleaned

Mum: Why? Are they dirty?

Me: I meant that they’re all having sex there

Mum: Ohh I get it. I should go there, then! 😉

Me: I would join you!

Oh crap.

So, obviously I meant, I would also like to go to the new gym in the retail park if everyone was having sex there, because that meant I could have sex. Totally separately from Mum. Not together, at all. I didn’t mean I wanted to join her. But, I can already hear the reaction: “that was totally subconscious, just your fingers typing what you really meant”. Maybe recurring fantasies about fucking my mum in the changing rooms at the leisure centre had finally come back to haunt me. In any case, I panicked and started to type a retraction, to clarify things, to apologise. But I saw ‘Mum is typing…’ appear and I held my breath.

Mum: Do you think someone your age would be interested in me?

Okay, not the end of the world, but this is definitely weird, right? I needed to apologise and tell her what I meant. But, there was the faintest glimmer of something there. A possibility. It crossed my mind that Mum was probably naked in the bath right as she was typing and I couldn’t stop myself.

Me: Definitely!

Mum: What would someone your age like about me?

Me: You look amazing, you’re really pretty, funny, smart…

Mum: Would they think I looked good?

Me: Of course, you look really good for someone your age

Mum: I mean would they think I was fit? Sexy?

Briefly, memories of school friends making idle comments about how fit my mum was flashed across my mind. Obviously she was sexy. But I was increasingly concerned that ‘someone my age’ was code for something else.

Me: They would

Mum: Would they share a changing room with me?

Okay, even my horny side was starting to freak out. What was I supposed to do here? This was clearly flirting. But was it just harmless flirting to help Mum’s ego? Was she serious?

Me: If you gave them a chance, yeah!

I waited, anxious, tense, my heart beating a billion times a minute. But Mum didn’t reply right away, and when she did, it wasn’t what I expected.

Mum: OK. Don’t stay up too late watching TV x

Me: I won’t…

And that was it. End of conversation. I heard Mum getting out of the bath and draining it, then getting ready for bed and turning her light out. I stayed downstairs, re-reading the conversation, my brain screaming that something had happened, something was going on. I just didn’t know what.

The next morning, we ate breakfast and then headed for the pool without saying anything on the topic. I half-expected Mum to proposition me and suggest we share that changing room, but she didn’t, obviously, and our swim was as normal as it could be. I still caught myself staring at her cleavage and her bum, but that wasn’t new. She didn’t seem embarrassed or guilty, like I felt, and as the weekend passed I convinced myself that it was just some harmless banter and I was the weird pervert reading something into it.

I managed to maintain this illusion for exactly a week, until Mum decided to repeat Friday night. This time, admittedly, we had home-cooked fish fingers, chips and peas, but after an hour of TV, Mum departed to the bath with her wine. I switched off the TV this time, stretched myself full length on the sofa, and tried to get into a book I was supposed to be reading for an assignment. Inevitably, my phone went off and distracted me.

Mum: Have you heard from Lydia lately? x

Me: Not really, I think she might be on holiday

Mum: Can’t she text you from her holiday?

Me: Probably, I don’t know

Mum: Sounds like you’ve moved on!

Me: Maybe I have

Mum: Got someone else on your mind?

Me: I might do

Mum: You have to tell me all about her!

Me: She’s gorgeous, attractive, huge smile, and huge something else…

Mum: Don’t be dirty! How come you haven’t mentioned her before?

Me: I’m sure I have

Mum: I would remember! Do you text her?

Me: Yes

Mum: Do you want to take her to the gym? 😉

Me: Now who’s being dirty?

Mum: Sorry! But answer the question

Me: Maybe I do

I was so confused. My cock was absolutely as hard as a rock in my trousers, painfully so, restricted by my underwear, but part of my mind was still screaming at me to stop. On the other hand, I felt like Mum was totally instigating all this so it’s not like it’s my fault. And anyway, even though it definitely seemed like flirting, maybe Mum still thought this was just her trying to be encouraging and more open?

My final attempt to kid myself went up in smoke when I saw her next message.

Mum: Are you thinking about being at the gym with her right now? x

It was the kiss on the end of the message that just sealed it. There was no way Mum was oblivious enough not to know how I would interpret it. If my girlfriend had texted me that I would be going wild with desire, so Mum must know it’s wrong. And she sent it anyway. There was no way I was going to be the bigger person at this stage.

Me: I definitely am…

Mum: What are you doing with her?

Me: We’re showering together

There was a longer pause this time before Mum texted me back. I spent most of the pause rubbing my cock through my trousers, incredibly turned on by this whole situation.